


Lovers in a Dangerous Time

by HippyChick1964



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, janto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippyChick1964/pseuds/HippyChick1964
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GOING OUT OF CANON FOLKS!  What if Ianto survived the 456 assault?  How could it have happened, all else being pretty much the same?  Our two heroes couldn't just live "happy ever after", now could they considering that issues which were left unresolved before Ianto's untimely loss in "Children of Earth".  Was there really the possibility of future between Ianto Jones and Jack Harkness?  And what do terrorist attacks in Paris have to do with anything?  These questions and more will be answered in this story in ten chapters.  Included in here are two original characters, Rabbi Aliyah Teelbaulm and her partner Sarah.  Those who are familiar with my other stories know the good rabbi as the leader of Torchwood Tel Aviv, an immortal from the planet Jersulem Prime, and former instructor to Jack from his days at the Time Agency.  I will publish in parts, so enjoy, leave kudos and reviews, please!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovers in a Dangerous Time

Chapter One

 

_Don't the hours grow shorter as the days go by_

_You never get to stop and open your eyes_

_One day you're waiting for the sky to fall_

_The next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all_

_When you're lovers in a dangerous time_

 

-              Bruce Cockburn

 

Ianto Jones sat behind the counter of the illusory harbor tour boat shop twisting the spinner on his wedding ring partly out of frustration and partly out of anticipation.  After the successful, permanent elimination of the 456, the Hub was immediately reconstructed, per his specifications – it now included a nursey (which Jack Harkness thought was rather large for Gwen’s small child), a “reading longue” (as Ianto had given up his flat and moved in, he found sometimes he needed space), an enlarged floor area for access and ease of use to the 3D computer system (Ianto LOVED “Iron Man” and felt Torchwood should be, could be equally as equipped), a new holding area (less dank and more humane), and a state-of-the-art medical theatre.   He was quite pleased with himself as he supervised the entire construction and it had come out brilliantly, or at least Gwen and Rhys thought so.  Only he hadn’t anticipated spending any time in it today, his wedding day.

It was planned as a simple affair and originally he thought they’d have a civil service at the local town hall, a nice lunch with friends and family, then be off for some steamy sex to break in their new rooms at the Hub.  However, changes happened in rapid succession to the point where events were out of his control.  Rabbi Aliyah, Jack’s longtime friend from his days at the Time Agency and leader of Torchwood Tel Aviv insisted that “some sort of ceremony be performed to mark this monumental occasion for you both” (conveniently ignoring the fact that both he and Jack were atheists).  Then, Gwen “just won’t have it” – they had to have a reception “somewhere romantic” and engaged Ianto’s sister, Rhiannon in securing and decorating the Caban Cardiff, the restaurant where the two had their first proper date.  And then somehow Martha Jones from U.N.I.T got involved by booking a 10 day stay at a ryokan (Japanese inn), the historic Hiiragiya in Kyoto, where she and her husband Mikey had spent their honeymoon.  The Doctor, initially offering a trip to some intergalactic affair, luckily barely made it for the ceremony and had to rush off after getting a urgent call from Clara or “. . . who knows where we might have ended up,” Ianto considered.  This thought brought a brief smile, not just because he was grateful for his small but deeply caring set of family and friends but because, having finally met the Doctor, he was satisfied that in this incarnation the Doctor was a grumpy older man (which shocked Jack when the TARDIS arrived as he hadn’t seen the Doctor since the last regeneration). 

Still, one does not like a nice meal interrupted, especially when it is a piece of sister’s decadent chocolate and chestnut torte (the proprietress of the Caban Cardiff only allowed this after tasting a sample prior to the reception – Rhiannon now has a contract to make this for the restaurant’s menu at least twice a week since she was unwilling to part with their family’s 100+ year old secret recipe!).  Everyone was taking their first bites and sipping their third (fourth??? It was Moët et Chandon Dom Perignon OENOTHÈQUE 1992 after all) glass of champagne when Jack and Rabbi Aliyah’s vortex manipulators as well as Martha’s and her husband’s U.N.I.T. issued mobiles rumbled, lite up, and rattled as if announcing the apocalypse in 3D with surround sound.  “It’s never done THAT before,” said Martha.  Jack stood to ridged attention, shook off his intoxication (Rhys always wondered how he did that), and said, “Everyone, back to the Hub!”  Rhiannon’s husband and children started to run out the door with everyone else when she stopped them.  “Let’s leave this to the professionals, folks, why don’t we?!” she said.  “After that madness with the 456, I’d prefer to stay a civilian, thank you.”  Her husband and kids were slightly disappointed but proceeded helping her clean up.

Jack drove Ianto, Martha and Mikey in the new SUV.  Rabbi Aliyah and her wife Sally rode with Rhys, Gwen, and baby Anwen in the family’s Honda Odyssey, for over the centuries, the rabbi had had enough of Jack’s driving (“Even in open space,” she once told Ianto, “Jack is the only pilot to ram at least two asteroids per flight!”).  However Aliyah and Jack knew exactly what the signal meant and Martha had an inkling and thus shared it with their riding companions, “It’s from Institute headquarters and that it came to all of us, it must be real bad.”

“What could be worse than the 456?” a passenger in both cars would ask.

“That’s just the point,” was the answer.

But, when everyone arrived at the Hub and Jack attempted to contact the Institute via the proverbial intergalactic “red line”, there was no answer.  Rabbi Aliyah attempted as well and also got no answer.  Martha called at U.N.I.T. headquarters but they were all sitting on their hands.  Mikey tried some of his friends in the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and the Joint Chiefs of Staff but they too were playing a game of hurry up and wait but for what, nobody knew.   Eventually, Ianto distributed coffee and, having snagged cake for everyone before taking off, a slice hoping it would calm nerves but waiting was exhausting.  Eventually, everyone found a spot away from everyone else and something to occupy their time while they anticipated what was bound to be bad news.  Ianto found himself in the false front door of the Hub thumbing through outdated tourist information just to keep out of the way of an increasingly irritated Jack Harkness who was pacing a hole in his new office carpet.

Ianto put down the brochure and began twisting his 14 kt, two-tone gold spinner wedding band, almost absent-mindedly watching the engraving Ein am byth yn awr, “our forever is now” in Welsh pass his eyes when the outside door of the tourist shop opened.  “We’re about to close ma’am,” a well-rehearsed line he used to get rid of any commoners but when this did not detour, he looked up.  Upon an initial glance, she could easily be mistaken for some young British woman with two small children in a double pram used to control the toddler and carry the infant.  But this woman’s authentic Coach bag and Vera Wang jogging suit gave her away, even underneath cheap sunglasses and a San Francisco Giants baseball cap.  Ianto looked at her intently, “May I help you?”  She took off the glasses and cap, which revealed her bright brown eyes and lavish brown hair – Ianto immediately recognized her. 

Ianto came from around the counter, nearly knocking over an overflowing brochure stand – Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge, wife of Prince William, second in line to the British crown and mother of the future King of England was standing in the shop dressed as some lost commoner. “Your Royal Highness,” he said, using the traditional head bow and formal address.

As is her way, the Duchess smiled sweetly and said, “It’s Ianto Jones, am I right?” offering her hand to shake. 

Ianto, still stunned, shook her hand, being careful not to cling too hard.  He looked around, looking for her bodyguards.  “Ma’am, you and the royal children are out . . . unescorted?”

The Duchess chuckled slightly, “I left them outside and trust, they know how to be discreet so no one will know this isn’t a tourist shop.”  She looked around as if giving away some secret, then pretended to whisper, “We royals have learned a lot about managing paparazzi since we lost Diane.”  The children, who were asleep in their tram stirred after that comment, as if a kindly ghost had passed them.  Ianto could not help but to take a close peek at the darlings who would soon continue the English crown into its 10th century and he was reminded of the second reason he insisted on a larger nursey in the Hub.

“I am sure, Ma’am, you’re not out and about for the air,” he said after returning from his moment of fancy.

“No, I’m sorry to say,” she replied.  “I fear grave times for the Kingdom, if not the world, Mr. Jones.”

“Yes ma’am but this Torchwood and we’re used to that,” he said as he lead her inside the Hub (minus that annoying roll away door with the screaming siren and obnoxious red lights; the new alarm system was much more subtle but equally effective).  He hesitated a moment though and turned to her to ask, “I’m sorry but how shall I announce you?”

“Oh, don’t worry.  I have a feeling that will be well taken care of!”

Their entrance interrupted nervous but useless speculation amongst the group about why they were being kept waiting by HQ.  The males stood up but everyone looked at Ianto and the guest quizzically.  Jack Harkness came out of his office which was still aloft and connected to the main floor by a narrow spiral staircase.  “Katie!” he bellowed from the top of the stairs.  

It was Gwen who initially mouthed to Ianto “Is that who I think it is?”  He nodded.  Martha was the next to figure it out and she mouthed, “What is she doing here?”  Ianto shrugged.  Rhys was the only one who spoke aloud what everyone was also wondering, “How does he know the Royals?”  Sally, who was rarely impressed by celebrities, rolled her eyes and sat back on the couch, “Who hasn’t Jack Harkness not slept with?”  Rabbi Aliyah gave her partner a slight shove and disappointed look like a mother toward an unruly child.

Jack bounced down the stairs and greeted the Duchess with a huge bear hug which she returned eagerly, despite the obvious impropriety.  “How are you and Bill?  You look as fabulous as ever!”  Jack turned to everyone in the room, still with his arm around the Duchess and started to explain his familiarity, “I met those two while I was traveling through Africa.  They were doing some ‘save the world’ work while I was investigating an alien sighting, you remember that quick trip don’t you Gwen?”  Gwen nodded obediently, clearly aware that Ianto didn’t know about this trip as it happened while Ianto was away at a family funeral.  Her face communicated to Jack something like “shut up idiot” but he was hell bent on talking.  “We all went to this little place just outside of Nairobi, what was it called?”  Gwen’s nonverbal attempts to hush him became more urgent.  “Katie, do you remember that party the Sultan of Brunei threw?  He was absolutely wasted!  As I remember, you, William and I . . .” 

“Well Jack,” Gwen finally interrupted, “I’m sure the Royal Highness is not here to exchange remembrances . . .”

The Duchess gave Gwen a grateful smile as she also could feel Ianto’s irritated stare burning a hole into the back of her head.  “Yes, sometime, hopefully when this is over, we can all meet for tea.”  She checked on the condition of her children, who were still sleeping despite Jack thunderous voice.  She pushed the tram such that the children were facing the wall, as if doing so would protect them from what she was about to say, from what was possibly, likely about to happen.  Her face changed and her voice took a tone of someone used to leadership, “Have you been watching the news from Paris?”

Jack stepped away, taking on his captain stance, “We all have been at my wedding.”  He nodded at Ianto.  “I’ve been rather busy.”

“I’ve kept a watch,” said Gwen.  “It’s truly horrible – all those innocent people out for a night, killed for no reason!”

“They are saying it ISIS,” Mikey interjected.

“And some of them may still be on the loose,” Rhys added.  “They’ve closed the French borders.”

The Duchess took a position in the room as if she was holding court and the others circled around her like King Arthur’s knights.  “I’ve been sent here my Her Majesty, the Queen, because England and quite possibly the world, is under threat.”

Jack shook his head. “No Kat…, your Highness,” he said, “This is against the charter – the Torchwood Institute, and U.N.I.T. as well, are never to interfere with the petty battles amongst the planet’s various nations.”  Martha and Mikey nodded their heads in agreement with Jack.

“What would you say if I told you that those attacks have an alien origin?”

Rabbi Aliyah step forward slightly, “Are you saying that ISIS forces are alien intruders?”

“No, not exactly.  But we have intelligence indicating that ISIS and other extremist jihadists groups are being, at the very least, influenced by some alien force.”

While the others took a moment to let this idea sink in, Jack remained unconvinced that this called for the Institute’s involvement, “I am still don’t believe this is Torchwood’s concern – you all have been squabbling over which g-d ideal is supreme for two millennium.  What makes these aliens any different from the arms traders selling nuclear components from the Soviet era, broke, starving citizens in Croatia selling their leftover automatic weapons from the Balkan wars, or drug lords taking advantage of mess the Western leadership left in Afghanistan to sell heroin to U.S. teenagers?” He turned his back, rather disrespectfully, and poured himself more coffee.  “I fail to see how Torchwood could do anything more than add to the present misery.”  He gave a nod toward Martha and Mikey, “However, I can’t speak for U.N.I.T.”

Martha agreed with Jack.  She had never understood how Earth nations had not done more to unite, particularly now that everyone knew that the universe contained a very threatening alien presence.  In her travels with the Doctor, she saw how the planets whose different nationalities and creeds forged an unified identity were the only ones able to successfully and, in many cases, permanently, fight off forces like the Daleks and the Cybermen.  Mikey’ approach was much more mundane – as a physician serving in many military theaters, he had seen how war destroyed the bodies and minds of whole communities.

But Rabbi Aliyah wanted more information.  In the past, Aliyah and Sally had to stand against alien forces supporting the Palestinian Liberation Army back in the 1970s.  Additionally, she knew that Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth was like her namesake, not prone to hyperbola and clearly aware of man’s follies.  “But this isn’t any old dalliance into human affairs, is it?”

“No, Rabbi,” she responded.  “What I am about to say must not leave this room.  Top field agents, like yours, around the world are the only ones being given this information.”  She took a moment then spoke again, “Intelligence reports from the Americans indicate that this alien element is funding extremist group of various elks all over the globe, urging them individually into war with one another – fueling their deadly cult-like apocalyptic ideologies with the goal of pitting them against one another in a final battle to wipe humankind off this planet.  Ladies and gentleman, this threat isn’t just against England, France, Israel or America – we all could die in this.”  Jack waved her off and took a seat at one of the longue chairs, irritated and sullen.  The Duchess following him there, “Captain, have you been locked in this Hub for so long that you have failed to pay attention to the world for which you act in?”

“Jack,” said Gwen, who was becoming convinced the Duchess was right, “the Middle East is on fire.  The so-called ‘Arab Spring’ has completely deteriorated, leaving countries like Egypt and Libya in a heap of fractional violence and instability.”

“She has a point, Jack,” interjected Ianto.  “There is a rise in support and membership for extremist groups globally.  How else can we explain Donald Trump and Ben Carson in the U.S.?”

“Okay, so when did you two start watching CNN and BBC World, eh?”

“Eh!” said Rhys, “that’s uncalled for, you!  These two have a point and they have a right to say something.”

Jack stood up in a challenging manner and charged at Rhys, “Ah, so you’re the arbiter of reason now?  I don’t recall you being initiated into our little club!”

At this, Sally stood up.  Although she was barely 5’3” and all but a 115 lbs soaking wet, it was all Mossad and IDF training strong, so her walking toward them stopping the argument from going further.  Ianto pulled a still angry Jack Harkness back while Gwen distracted Rhys by putting their daughter in his arms.  This worked for Rhys but Jack was not backing down.  He stepped toward the Duchess threateningly now – if her guard would’ve been there, they would have shot so many holes in him, he’d be dead for at least three days.  “Do you people understand what these three went through during that 456 fiasco?  Do you?  Your government disowned us – threw us to the wolves so you had cover for evil you made me do and were going to make me do again!”  Tears swelled in his eyes.  He formed a fist and shook it in the face of the Duchess, “If the Doctor hadn’t come when he did, Ianto would have died and thousands of Earth’s children would have been sacrificed, AGAIN!”  Ianto reached out and pulled Jack back again, as he was certain Jack would hit the future Queen.  Jack went back to his seat, nearly collapsing into it, his mind running the events through like the crawl on some 24 hour news channel.

The Duchess understood.  The government had been horrible to Jack and his family as well as thousands of families around the world.  There was nothing she could say to clear away what happened.  She had to appeal to something else, she had to find out what kept this man working for Torchwood for over a century when he could have, long ago, left it – well after his time was served and neither the Prime Minister nor the Monarchy had any hold over him.  “Captain Harkness, you, like the Doctor, have come to the rescue of England, no Earth, so many times . . . We can never repay either of you for what you done, what you have sacrificed for a people, a time that is not yours.  And you’ve often been repaid with, at best, passing acknowledgement.”  She took a deep breath, then let it out deliberately, “We are asking you again to be our hero, you and your team.  Her Majesty is speaking now for the world’s leaders - save us, in part from evils we have created, and from an evil that is about to take advantage of it.  This time it won’t be thousands of children becoming living sacrifices to feed a creature’s drug habit, it will be aliens manipulating us to kill ourselves.”  She heard her son stirring, awakening in his seat.  The Duchess went to the tram and pulled him out, careful not to disturb her daughter who was still sleeping blissfully.  With an angel faced boy rubbing his eyes resting on her hip, the Duchess of Cambridge looked like any mother, anywhere in the world.  “It is because your team faced and slaughtered the 456 that the Queen believes only you have the skill and steadfastness to face this threat.”  She made eye contact with each of them individually, “I can’t make you do it.  But Her Majesty and the world’s leaders are in agreement, that this is the only group who can save us.”

The others looked at one another – her appeal to their patriotism, their dedication to keeping the Earth safe, and frankly their pride – they were all now like some military, special forces group who had been doing this for so long they didn’t know how to be or do anything else.  It was Rabbi Aliyah who said what they were all thinking, “What information do we have about these aliens?”

But while the others had acquiesced, Jack Harkness stubbornly held his position.  Ianto looked at him understandingly – it was out of the disaster of the fight against the 456 that led Jack to proposed.  Ianto was in a coma for days, the doctors did not hold much hope as they didn’t understand the poison the 456 had exposed him to.  Ianto didn’t know how he recovered until after it was all over and Gwen told him what she knew – Jack called the Doctor and pleaded with him to help defeat the 456 and save Ianto’s life.  The Doctor devised a plan to raise the body temperature of the children the 456 were nearly done draining.  The change in body temperature triggered puberty in a handful of the children who were close to transitioning when they were enslaved.  The testertosone and estrogen are poisonous to the 456.  As for saving Ianto, the Doctor told Jack a secret.  A small dose of his blood could revive the comatose man but at a price – it would change Jack’s immortality, but how, the Doctor could not predict.   Gwen didn’t know these latter details, only that the Doctor’s help saved Ianto. 

But despite what happened and Jack’s assurances that Torchwood was going to “take a step back”, “become less reckless” particularly now that Gwen had the baby coming, Ianto knew his husband was addicted to being a hero, to saving the world and would never live some “nice quiet life in the Welsh countryside”.  Ianto kneeled down so he could speak to him while the others were distracted by mobile calls to cancel upcoming family visits and to home offices for further instructions.  “You remember what our rings say?”  Ianto pointed to Jack’s ring, “Do you remember why you choose this engraving, why it says, ‘our forever is now’?”  Jack was resisting his inclination to look at Ianto.  “You said that the only way this relationship was going to work is if we treasure and live each moment as if it was the last.”  Ianto caressed Jack’s face like Jack often did whenever Ianto was uncertain or tired, “You ARE Torchwood – we are Torchwood and Torchwood is dedicated to keeping the planet safe from all alien evil that comes through the rift.  It has become your life, it is who you are and you’re not going to give it up.  And if you do, you’ll sleep on this downstairs couch until the bloody zombie apocalypse!”

Jack groaned and shook his head, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you get Netflix. All that Star Trek binge watching has gone to your head.” 

Ianto smiled and kissed Jack’s hand. 

With that, Captain Jack Harkness sprang into action.  “Alright Duchess, what’s the intel?”

****************

As intelligence goes, there wasn’t much.

Martha and Mikey requested to stay and work with Torchwood, which U.N.I.T. high command was not adverse to.  As the leader of Torchwood facility, Rabbi Aliyah had the authority to request and receive leave from the Tel Aviv office and have the Institute assign her duties there to her assistants who were more than capable.  Of course Rhys was not thinking of asking Gwen to step down but neither was he leaving her side.  As for their daughter, in the months since her birth, she only seemed to sleep well at the Hub or whenever both her parents were together – it appeared she was going to be recruited to this life literally from birth.  As for Jack, he looked down from the glass door of his loft office at his new team, reviewing and discussing what information they did have.  He remembered Tosh and Owen.  “They would have loved this,” he thought wistfully. 

Ianto came up the steps holding a tablet.  “I’ve made sleeping arrangements at the Hub for tonight – we have ample room for everyone.  Luckily their all couples.”  He looked down at the tablet.  “I also have booked flights to Paris, Brussels, and Washington, D.C.”

“Who’s going where?”

“The Rabbi and Sarah are going to D.C. – she has good relations with the Administration there, despite the current cool between the two leaders.  Martha and Mikey are going to Brussels – they have contacts there.  Gwen, Rhys, and Anwen are going to Paris.”

Jack looked at Ianto incredulously, “The baby is doing recon?”

“You’d be surprised how quickly people are willing to talk to you when you have a baby in your arms.”

Jack shrugged, “Okay, so where are we going then?”

Ianto smiled, “Nowhere.  It shouldn’t take long to access the ground information needed – it would be simpler to do conference calls but I don’t trust the communication systems.  Everyone going as a couple, ostensibly on holiday to visit friends or colleagues, makes everything look less suspicious and won’t draw unwarranted attention.  At this point, the aliens, whoever they are, don’t know we’re on to them and keeping it that way gives us a leg up.”

“What am I supposed to do?  Whose idea was it that I stay behind?”

“I am monitoring Internet chatter, government communiqués, official and otherwise, extremist movements, as well as awaiting additional intel from our official sources.  And your job is to stand here and look cute,” he smiled invitingly.

Jack brightened, “Ianto, I do THAT naturally! And I ask again, whose idea was it that we stay behind?”

Ianto pointed at the group below, who were starting to break up and move to their quarters.  They waved up at the two of them.  “It was there’s.  I guess they figured this was the only honeymoon I was going to get outta you.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keep reading!

Chapter Two

 

_The saddest sight my eyes can see_

_Is that big ball of orange sinkin' slyly down the trees_

_Sittin' in a broken circle_

_While you rest upon my knee_

_This perfect moments will soon be leavin' me_

_Suzanne calls from Boston_

_The coffee's hot the corn is high_

_And that same sun that warms_

_Your heart will suck the good earth dry_

_With everything its opposite enough to keep you cryin'_

_Or keep this old world spinnin' with a twinkle in its eye_

_Get out the map_

_Get out the map_

_And lay your finger anywhere down_

_We'll leave the figurin' to those_

_We pass on our way out of town_

_Don't drink the water_

_There seems to be somethin' ailin' everyone_

_I'm gonna clear my head_

_I'm gonna drink that sun_

_I'm gonna love you good and strong_

_While our love is good and young_

  *  - “Get out the Map”, Indigo Girls



 

In the past, team members would spend days at the Hub, often sleeping on hard couches or crunched into second hand leather chairs and Ianto would have none of it.  Ianto also suspected that the future would not include new team members (Jack was still not ready for that) but that investigations would be staffed by people who came in and out, borrowed from other Torchwood facilities, assigned by U.N.I.T., and coerced from some governmental agency.  “Hotel reservations” were out of the question – expanding the size of the Hub and making highly comfortable what was basically an underground bunker into a luxury stay was critical for morale, if nothing else.

The new “guest rooms” were more like compact, high-end extended stay suites.  Each had a small refrigerator stocked with gourmet frozen meals, a microwave, cabinets for glasses, eating utensils, and dishes, a Keurig machine and a corral with a varied selection of coffees and teas, ample relaxation and work areas including a small writing desk, a chaise, a four-person mini dining table, a king size bed, closet space, and a 4K wall mount television.  And it wouldn’t be “comfort designed by Ianto Jones” without 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, Hydrocotton bath towels, and a full line of toiletries from Crabtree and Evelyn.  They were still underground, so there were no windows however to offer some sense of nature, there were three hydroponic containers, one with herbs hanging in the kitchen area and two on the nightstands with a variety of flowers one would find in any English country garden. 

However, Ianto was most proud of the small touches he added specifically for each guest.  And now that it was going to be a longer stay for everyone, these pieces would come in handy as a method of relief. His pre-wedding day prep list ran as follows:

  * Rabbi Aliyah: a small drafting table with a sit/stand work stool (“Ianto remembered how I like to work!” she said when she saw it).
  * Sarah Teelbaulm: a Leap Motion 3.0 virtual reality headset, not yet in full production (The note he placed beside it said, ““I’ve taken the liberty of preloading a few apps I thought you two might like – a level 20 Krav Maga workout, a vertical climb simulation, and something called ‘Travel Torah and Talmud with the Rabbic Masters’ – I cannot attest to the latter but since they include Rashi, I thought Aliyah would at least try it.  Of course, should you want anything else, use the holographic interface to download it from the Google store.  Enjoy!”  Aliyah shook her head, “He is always trying to get me to give up the books for a tablet or something.” 
  * Martha Jones-Smith:  directly connected to her and Mickey’s room was Owen’s forensic lab recreated with the latest updates making it comparable to anything at U.N.I.T. (Ianto placed a memorial photo of Owen on the wall.  Martha shed a tear as she told Mickey about the lost team member).
  * Mickey Smith:  He was the hardest, as Ianto knew him the least of all the guests and all Martha could contribute was that Mickey liked to “tinker and build things”.  So Ianto took a chance, installed a workbench with drawers containing everything someone would need to build a variety of models – cars, trains, ships, etc. (Later Martha would complain to Ianto that they may have to move permanently to Torchwood as she was having trouble prying her husband away from his new found hobby.)
  * Gwen:  as she was a permanent member of Torchwood, Ianto took the liberty of constructing a room for her daughter, although he allowed Gwen to decorate it - baby’s room walls were a light pink with red mahogany wood furniture Rhys built by hand.   To the untrained eye, it was your typical baby bedroom however Ianto convinced the couple to take on certain adjustments so that it also served as a safe room, with a floor trap door leading to a subbasement containing sufficient rations from the Wise Company, a well-respected dry food manufacturer amongst the survivalist’s community, and water for six months (It had been agreed, should the Hub be invaded again, all efforts would be made to insure Gwen and Anwen’s survival).
  * Rhys:  since the confronting the 456, he had become the unofficial Hub chef (“No more daft pizza and shotty Chinese takeaway!” said Rhys).  So attached to Gwen and his suite was the new Hub kitchen – designed to be the envy of any Top Chef contestant.  Rhys was proud of his place as a member of the team (“Any army travels on its stomach and yours will be happy as well as healthy!”) but knew to leave the coffee making to the original “tea boy”.



But most of all, Ianto Jones was proud of Jack and his work and living quarters, which were on the second and third floors.   Although colors and furnishings were attuned to Ianto’s taste, it contained what every immortal (or at least this immortal) desired, including a wet bar stocked with plenty of electric bourbon and hypervodka (a wedding present from Rabbi Aliyah), a bowl of jelly babies (a habit Jack acquired from an encounter with The Doctor’s fourth incarnation), and a restored grandfather clock (it had been in storage in the basement and somehow survived the explosion.  Jack would not say where he got it nor how but when Ianto presented him with it after a full, authentic restoration, Jack cried and hugged him harder than when they had sex).  Ianto brought the bedroom furnishings from his apartment except he got a new mattress as the previous had been well-worn.  He had the builders create a partition area of the bedroom which served as his small office – he didn’t need much as he spent most of his time in various areas of the Hub and if he worked after Jack went to bed, he wanted to be able to hear Jack when he was suffused by one of his frequent nightmares.  The second floor, connected to the main floor and their private rooms by a spiral staircase, a recreation of Jack’s original office, with one-way glass walls that gave him visual access to all parts of the Hub except the interior of the guest rooms and the holding cells (there were cameras for the latter and Ianto refused Jack’s partially joking request for cameras in the former).   When Jack wanted someone from the main floor, he simply had to open the beveled window by his desk and holler, which he did in the beginning with much frequency. 

When Jack saw the bill for such lavishness, Ianto simply rolled his eyes and finished the arrangements with a subtle cleaning service recommended by Institute headquarters.   Jack signed the requisition so Natalia would come 3 times a week.

****************************

After a plate of Rhys’ Quinoa Tarts with Mushrooms, a bottle of Castello di Ama 2001 L’Apparita (a Merlot, a gift from Duke and Duchess), and several hours of feverish sex, Jack Harkness lay stretched-out, face down on the sweat soaked bed quietly snoring.  Ianto, on the other-hand, was a bit giddy but wide awake – a perfect time for his special Chamomile and Lemon Balm fresh crushed herb blend.   Several months back, Peppa, his most frequented master blender & roaster, had opened a portion of his store to a tea expert from Japan and encouraged his best customers, like Ianto, to enjoy her wares.  Ianto found balancing the tastes and sensations of coffees and teas an interesting diversion, an expansion of an already well-established hobby.  

Before he left the bed, he covered Jack to mid-back then walked quietly to his office.  He made his blend with his Cuisinart Tea Kettle, then began reviewing recent rift readings on the holographic computer.  Waving his hands across the top tiles allowed him to scan any connection between rift openings and the dates of terrorist attacks.  It didn’t surprise him that each rift opening occurred between two and four days before any global jihadi operation, from the 1993 World Trade Center bombing through the Paris attacks and no matter if the group was al-Quada in Iraq, the Talaban in Afganistan, or Boko Haram in Africa.  However, something Tosh had taught him about the rift came to mind – “the bigger the hole, the smaller the impact” – the bigger aliens or the larger alien fleets tended historically to be the easiest for Torchwood to vanquish, either because the “noise” emitting from such a force offered some kind of warning that allowed for planning a counterassault.   But these readings were short-lived and noted very small, brief openings, definitely not enough to allow even a small number of creatures, humanoid or not, in to Earth space.  He poured himself a cup and started to drink when it came to him.

Then Ianto heard a familiar groan.  It was Jack at the beginning of a nightmare.    Ianto put his cup down and quickly returned to the bedroom.  He found Jack mumbling, in a fetal position clinching the pillow so tightly that he had already ripped holes in several places.  From past encounters and consultation from Martha, Ianto knew that he had to treat this more like an incident of sleepwalking than a run-of-a-mill bad dream.  “Despite urban legends claiming that waking a sleepwalker will send them into shock or give them a heart attack, it’s pretty much harmless,” Martha informed him.  “However, forcefully bringing a person out of a deep sleep in this impaired state can cause them to become startled, confused or agitated. Not immediately recognizing you as someone they know, they may push you, strike you, or otherwise lash out at you.”  She also told him that it wasn’t uncommon for sleepwalkers to drive, cook a meal, or engage in other activities without knowledge of it after waking up and this could be dangerous.  Once when Jack slept over at Ianto’s flat, he got up and began frantically searching for his vortex manipulator, determined to escape something that was hunting him (luckily, Ianto hid it in the nightstand drawer). 

Ianto followed Martha’s advice and stood close-by, ready to gently and quietly redirect Jack to bed if he started to leave the room – spiral staircases are not meant for sleepwalking but Jack, who denied he had such a condition, demanded they be installed.  But this time, Jack just rocked in the bed.  And then his mumbling got loud enough for Ianto to understand it, “Don’t leave me.  Ianto don’t leave, please don’t leave!  Everyone leaves.”  Ianto didn’t know what this meant – was Jack afraid they’d divorce?   Jack’s tone was equally disturbing, a gut-wrenching wail like a mortally wounded animal that tore at Ianto’s heart.  He decided he had to do something.

Jack had not left the bed but was sitting up, eyes open in an eery stare, rocking while still tearing at the pillow.  Ianto decided to stealthy crawl back into bed and slowly envelope the now shaking and crying Jack Harkness.  “I’m not going anywhere, luv,” Ianto whispered, “I’ll be with you as long as you’ll have me.”  Ianto said this while not disturbing the rhythm of Jack’s rocking, instead he matched it.  Soon Jack quieted and his crying ceased then the rigidity in his muscles eased and his breathing slowed.

Once he was sure the crisis was over, Ianto kissed Jack behind his ear and loosened his grip around him.  Jacks’ more typical guttural growl assured Ianto that Jack had returned to a more restful sleep.  Ianto coasted him into a prone position in the bed and started to get up and return to his office but then thought better of it.  Assured the kettle would turn itself off in five minutes, he decided to cuddle up with Jack as a way to insure the nightmare would not return, at least for tonight.  It took a while for Ianto to fall asleep himself as he couldn’t help but wonder why someone like Jack Harkness would fear anyone would leave him.

But Jack was not asleep as Ianto thought.  Ianto’s kind and gentle encouragement to lie down, had awoken Jack and he was keenly aware of had happened.  _Damn_ , Jack thought as his mind buzzed with ways to get around this. 

_You know better than that.  You also know the disasters lies create.  Do you want to ruin this young man’s heart or cherish it?_

Aliyah - Jack knew that voice was no hallucination but his teacher and mentor from his days at the Time Agency.

_Lies destroyed your last marriage, remember?_

The rabbi was also immortal as well as a Legilimen - an advanced telepath, as she could not only read minds but project her own thoughts - but unlike Jack, she had been born an immortal.

_And memory serves me, it almost tore your team apart as well!_

And she had saved his life on even more occasions than The Doctor – from breaking out of the time loop that trapped him with John Hart to pulling his guilt-ridden soul from out of an opium den tucked within a labyrinth caves on some planet on the edge of the Milky Way after his first encounter with the 456. 

 _Ianto has proven that his care for you is unconditional_.

She had also done her best to teach him how to manage his immortality through an abridged version of the same training she received on her home planet, Jeshurun Prime - a planet settled during Moses’ time by Jews who sought a promise land with the aliens who brought the Egyptians their pyramid technology.   Immortality was a recessive gene on her world, coming from breeding with the planet’s aboriginal inhabitants.  Jack was an extremely reluctant and stubborn student, only acquiescing after joining Torchwood.  

_So, what are you hiding from now?_

“That I may not . . . can’t . . . live without him,” Jack accidently said aloud. 

“Are you okay?” Ianto murmured.

Jack immediately moved into “charm mode”, turned around and smiled so brightly Ianto couldn’t help but open his eyes.  “It’s only five.  You’ve got another hour to sleep before you need to worry about beating Rhys to the kitchen.”  He kissed Ianto’s nose, then said, “I know you like a few moments alone to make the coffees, to keep your special methods secret!”

“Are you okay?” Ianto asked, caressing Jack’s face, swearing he feel remnants of tears.  “You had one of those dreams again.”  He sat up and pointed to the mangled pillow underneath Jack’s head, “It was really bad this time.”

Jack rose, took hold of Ianto’s hand and kissed the open palm without giving the pillow the slightest glance.  “Now how can life be bad now that I’m married to the sexist man in the European Union!”

Ianto took the bait, “What?  Not the galaxy?  I’m wounded, truly wounded.”

“Hark!” Jack feigned.  “How can I redeem myself?” 

 _Yes, sex.  Sex Jack Harkness_.  Rabbi Aliyah’s telepathic insertions continued, _Mmm, an overused distraction just like your haughty, angry tone.  Please, Ianto deserves better!_

“I know!” Jack responded angrily, resenting her nagging.

Ianto, confused by Jack’s change in tone, said, “Huh?  Are you upset with me?”

Jack felt Aliyah leaving his head and quickly returned to his seduction.  “Should I be?” he grinned.  “I mean it is the holiday season too afterall”, he continued as his sat up fully the crawled over to straddled his husband, “and Father Christmas is not certain . . .,” he pulled Ianto’s hands above his head and held them against the headboard while leaning in to whisper, “. . . if you’ve been naughty enough!”

Ianto smiled and let Jack have his way with him.  However, he didn’t forget what happened nor that they had only a half an hour as he did need to get to the kitchen before Rhys.

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep reading!

Chapter Three

_Here comes the helicopter, second time today_

_Everybody scatters and hopes it goes away_

_How many kids they've murdered only God can say, hey_

_If I had a rocket launcher, if I had a rocket launcher_

_If I had a rocket launcher, I'd make somebody pay_

_I don't believe in guarded borders and I don't believe in hate_

_I don't believe in generals or their stinking torture states_

_And when I talk with the survivors of things too sickening to relate_

_If I had a rocket launcher, if I had a rocket launcher_

_If I had a rocket launcher, I would retaliate_

  * “If I Had a Rocket Launcher”, Bruce Cockburn



The team met in the conference room after Rhys’ “filling and heart-healthy English breakfast”.  This room too had been redesigned with a table that would warm King Arthur’s heart, hardy English oak, 7ft (2.13m) in diameter. A modern day Arthur would be pleased all his knights could work paperless with full WiFi access and holo-screen access.

“I know everyone took advantage of our newly designed suites last night however, I’d like to go over what we know before all of us fly off on our various leads and destinations,” started Jack.  He looked around the room then asked with a peeved pitch, “Rabbi, did you have time last night to run the Duchess’ information past any of your Israeli contacts?”

Sarah gave Jack a dirty look and Aliyah put her hand on her partner’s lap to signal “I got this” before giving Jack a “grandmother look”.  She put on her half-glasses and her salted dreadlocks covered her face as she looked down on her notes – unlike Sarah, she still liked the old ways.  “My people combined the information from MI-6 with chatter and informant intel but some things are not adding up.” 

“Like?” Jack asked, still irritated with her but in full realization that this did not matter to her.

“The level of coordination is remarkable and improving by the incident.”  Sarah put the data from Torchwood Tel Aviv on the larger holoscreen.  Red points on a clear global map indicated each jihadist terrorist, with different shapes depending on which group, incident since the 1993 Twin Tower parking garage attacks.  “But more importantly it is forming a pattern, may be even a symbol of some sort.”  Sarah waved her hand which removed the map, leaving the red spots.

“Looks like a bunch of red dots to me,” said Rhys.

Martha got up to take a closer look, “No, I think the rabbi is on to something but maybe . . . maybe it needs further untangling.”  Aliyah nodded.

“I noticed that the rift readings correspond to each attack as well,” Ianto said, raising his readings on the group screen.  He walked up to the 3D projection, then elaborated, “There have been over 30,000 terrorists’ attacks worldwide by Muslim extremists since America’s 9/11.  Not all of them correspond with rift activity but if exclude ‘Muslim on Muslim’ attacks in predominately Arab countries, Indonesia, Pakistan, and Turkey,” Ianto touched the screen to remove these from the list, “then add the indigenous attacks, like the recent bombing of the Planned Parenthood attack in the U.S.,” he touched another icon which added these dates.  “Finally, you compared it to the rift readings corresponding with those dates and you see a pattern.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t like they’re going to get some kind of military force threw that,” said Mikey, “all those readings are short, almost insignificant.  That’s like trying to push water through a pin hole.”

Gwen interjected, “Maybe it isn’t a whole army their trying to get through?  Anyway why no readings for the other events?  What makes them so insignificant?”

“They weren’t insignificant to those who lost their lives!” said Rhys.  Anwen began to make ‘please change me’ noises so Rhys took her from Gwen’s arms.  She initially gave him a ‘I can do it’ but he shook his head and took the child back to the suite.

Gwen continued, “So we still have more questions than answers.”

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment, “Gwen’s right.  We need more information, data.  There are connections, that’s clear but what they are and what they mean is still really unclear.”  He looked around the room at his new team, “In the spirit of all this Knights of the Roundtable stuff, let me ask you all, are the current travel assignments correct in light of this new analysis.”

Ianto started texting the travel agent to be on standby.

“I think I’ll stay here and keep looking for a pattern or symbolism in the locales of each attack,” said Aliyah.  “I am convinced these aren’t random, that they mean something.”  She turned to Sarah, “You go ahead and speak to our American contacts.”  Sarah started to object but Aliyah patted her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Jack won’t let anything happen to me here.” 

Sarah gave Jack a murderous look but then nodded to Ianto to confirm her acquiesce.  “Your flight leaves at 1:34pm from Cardiff Airport – your private jet will meet up with Chelsea Clinton and J. Richard Cohen of the SPLC in Oslo,” Ianto read from his tablet.

“The head of the Southern Poverty Law Center?” asked Martha.  “What can an American civil rights group tell us?”

“He’s an old family friend,” said Sarah as she stood and zip synced the itinerary with Ianto’s tablet.  “Called me unexpectedly before we left Tel Aviv.  He’s never been a fan of Torchwood – believes the evil on Earth is more pressing.  However, he said his group has run across some information relevant to us.”  He just happens to be going to Oslo as well to prepare for the next International Conference on Human Rights.” 

Jack teased, “Not good enough to just meet with Momma Clinton, eh Sarah?”

Sarah gave him an exasperated sigh, “You’re tiresome Harkness!”  She turned to the others, “Chelsea’s father-in-law owes the Israeli government and she is helping pay off the debt by sharing information from her mother’s contacts.  She should be bringing me a package.”  Sarah turned to Aliyah, “I should be back tomorrow morning.”  She kissed Aliyah on the forehead then headed to the suite to pack.

“Gwen?” asked Jack.

“I’ve got a friend from uni who works for the Brussel’s police.  She’s done well and likely has access to a great deal of information about their portion of the Paris attacks.  And she owes me a favor.”

“Really, what kind of favor?” asked Rhys, who had just returned to the room.

“I wrote most of her final paper.”  With that, Gwen motioned Rhys to sync his tablet with Ianto so they could go as well.

“Martha, Mikey?” asked Jack.

“We are taking the good Rabbi’s place in America,” answered Mickey, “but we are going to San Bernardino California.”

“Yes,” interjected Martha as she synced her tablet with Ianto’s, “The FBI nor the State Department are likely to give us Brits, particularly us “UFO-types” as they call us, much detailed let alone pertinent intel.  Plus, the Yanks like to be the heroes – they’re probably afraid we’ll screw things up or accidently get it right and end up with all the glory.”

Mikey stood to go but asked with a snickering grin first, “And need I ask what the honeymooners are going to do the next few days?”

Jack interrupted Ianto, who was going to say something that had to do with a play and reservations, “No, no!  We can’t leave you guys to have all the fun.”  He winked at an irritated Ianto, “We’ve got some intel to follow up on tonight as well.”

“Where?” asked Ianto, who was envisioning a sizzling medium rare steak drifting away.

“Black Blanc Beur,” Jack said then whispered in Ianto’s ear, “in Paris.”  He took Ianto’s tablet from him and tapped instructions to the travel agent.  “I have a few old friends there that know the rift well and may be able to give us some answers.”  He finished and handed the tablet back to a suspicious Ianto Jones then added as everyone was leaving the room, “You all have your special contacts and I have mine.”

Ianto quickly looked up the web page for what is informally known as the “BBB”.  A travel review webpage described it as a “weekly gay tea dance party with black, Arabic and mixed happy urban crowd with mixed music styles. R&B, Rai, Happy vocal, 70s Disco, Hip Hop, Black, Afro, White and North African music. From Kylie to Khaled. And boys who like that. Often they have shows with black dancers.”  He couldn’t help but wonder which of Jack’s old lovers this “informant” was (and how “old” this person was, as well). 

Jack saw the irritated look in Ianto’s face and gave him a big, distracting kiss then dashed up the stairs to his office. 

Gwen came to Ianto, patted him on the shoulder, “At least it’s Paris, eh?”

********************************************

Sarah arrived at the Sundvolden Hotel at about 7 in the evening.  The Sundvolden located in scenic surroundings between two fjords in Krokkleiva, 76 km from Oslo Airport in eastern Norwary, is a historic spa and ski resort facility and conference center.  It also served as a hideaway for the rich, famous or infamous when they wanted a vacation away from the paparazzi or Interpol.   While waiting to register, Sarah read the activities brochure, noting the various outdoor as well as indoor experiences, from kayaking to lectures by leading thinkers in European philosophy (she made a mental note to ask Ianto’s travel agent to book another stay for her and Aliyah’s anniversary next year – finally a vacation they both could enjoy). 

When the front desk clerk saw her name, she said, “Ah, Mrs. Teelbaulm, your guest is waiting for you at the lounge” then pointed to a darkly lit room behind Sarah.  “The bellboy will take your luggage up to your room.”  The worker must of noticed Sarah’s raised eyebrow because she nervously added, “Ah, yes ma’am.  Your guest insisted on seeing you immediately?” 

“Thank you,” Sarah said, trying to reassure the poor woman that the problem was with the guest not her.  She handed the red pimpled bellboy her duffle bag and an ample number of Euros, both of which seemed to overwhelm the teen.  He figured out how to manage both gratefully.

Sarah entered the spacious bar room.  To her left, a female piano player in a tuxedo absent-mindedly clucked at a Mozart interlude.  To Sarah’s right, a bored hostess was getting chatted up by an overly eager male bartender.  Other than Chelsea Clinton-Mezvinsky, the room was deserted.  All in all, a typical off-season night in a local resort hotel just prior to a large conference. 

Sarah walked over and stood in front of a neatly seated, conspicuously dressed blonde woman in large sunglasses.  The woman didn’t look up, just motioned Sarah to the cushioned seat directly across.   Chelsea had grown from a star-struck, fizzy headed teen making a game of escaping her secret service detail to steeled ice princess waiting for her mother to exit stage left.  Clinton moved forward in her seat and like a cheap magician on a Vegas stage, produced a thickened manila envelope.  “Here is the information,” the woman sneered.  “I want you to know, my father-in-law has done enough for you people – he has paid his debt, paid it with double interest.” 

“The Israeli government and the Torchwood Institute appreciate your family’s continued, _support_.” 

“I mean it!  We owe you all nothing.”

Sarah looked at Clinton incredulously, “Ma’am, the government paid for your father-in-law’s legal fees and the Institute reconned those two witnesses that could have revealed the true extent of his fraud.  We’ll let you know when the debt is paid.”  Sarah looked down at the material she was removing from the envelope.  She realized that Clinton hadn’t left, so she dismissed her, “You can go now.”

By the next morning, Sarah handed her friend, J. Richard Cohen, the unopened package she had gotten the night before.  “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I owe you,” Sarah conceded over her continental breakfast.  “This should help with your next cases.”

“How do you know?  It doesn’t look like you read it.”

Sarah smiled, something unusual for her, “It’s amazing what you can get out of a source that needs you more than you need them.”

Cohen opened the envelope and pulled out the stack of papers halfway.  His eyes few open and his lawyers heart salivated, “Shit Sarah!”  He frantically pulled the paperwork out of the bag and let the envelope fall to the floor.  Shuffling through sets of memos, reports, and spreadsheets his excitement grew like kid in Disneyland.  “These talk about nearly all the cases we are working on!  The fucking FBI and NSA already have the evidence we need to get convictions and judgements on nearly two dozen police shooting cases and discrimination suits!  This is going to save us months, hell, maybe years of Freedom of Information filings and research.”  He looked up at her long enough to ask, “Does Obama know about this?  That his departments have been collecting this?”

Sarah answered him by continuing to sip her coffee.

Cohen sighed and rubbed his eyes – old civil rights fighters like him had had too many hopes dashed by this administration and its insistence on only clandestine support.  He repacked his intel and threw out half-heartedly, “I suppose he’ll settle for another quiet stint as a Princeton Law professor – no building houses for the poor.”

“It’s University of Chicago,” she said while waving off an eager restaurant waiter.  “I’ve always said eggheads make bad revolutionaries.  You reformers should have read the ingredients before voting instead of buying from the cashier’s counter.”

Cohen noted his friend’s dismissive look – most Israelis found the racial intricacies of American politics tiresome while they simultaneously ignored the powder keg of interracial Jewish relations that threatening to turn the Palestinian problem a sideshow.  He put his newly acquired booty in his leather case underneath the table then put that between his legs as if his balls were going to protect it from loss.  He opened up his iPad and a US map immediately appeared, black dots randomly popped up in various locales.  “This map identifies all the hate groups in the country.”  Sarah nodded so he continued by clicking the screen which change the color of almost every dot, “This is an overlay that points to which group had an increased in birthrate in the last year.” 

“So white supremacists are fucking more.  “What’s the big deal there?  I read in somewhere that the whole country has seen a birthrate increase recently.

“True, both the number of births and the fertility rate in the U.S. increased by 1% in 2014, the first rise since 2007. ”  He tapped the screen again and percentages appeared atop of each dot, “This shows the percentage increase in each hate group.”  He let the fact that no dot, no group had an increase of less than 8% settle in her mind before finishing, “Keep in mind, we don’t just track white groups.  These dots represent growth in all race and religion-based hate groups all over the US.”

Sarah peered more closely at the numbers.  “Can you send this to Aliyah?”

“Of course,” he answered as he switched screens on the tablet, “but see this first.”  He brought up an Excel spreadsheet, “This is a list of all of the pro-choice clinics that have closed since 2008 along with who bought the property afterwards.”  He pointed at each column, “I know the names of the buyers don’t mean anything to you but we know of them as dummy companies for most if not all of those hate groups.  We don’t know what is going on in there, for they aren’t open to the public and have ‘private property’, security gates, and sometimes armed guards around them now.  But something is happening.”  He reached in his jacket pocket and handed her a flash drive, “We have some hidden surveillance here, if that helps, but we can’t figure heads or tails of what’s going on in those places now.”

She pocketed the drive.  “What makes this a Torchwood issue?”

“First, growing birth rates in undeveloped countries, which outstrip the West, have not been over 2% in 150 years.  Second, in there tends to be more male than female.  Third, the rate of multiple births has risen by 25% over 8 years and continues to rise, according to our friends at the CDC.”  Cohen leaned in and looked at Sarah like an anxious parent of a child who is 6 hours past curfew, “This isn’t coming from folks sponsoring hate orgies, something’s happening and it isn’t natural.”

**********************************

Jack knew better than to arrive in Paris during museum hours.  He either saw the art work when it was originally created or was the muse for the artist creating it.  But he kept a bit of reserve and pretense of amazement because he knew that Ianto was a Paris virgin as he was dragged through the Louvre.  Now that they were back in the hotel, he had to displace the honeymoon just a minute longer.  “We can’t spend a night in Paris in a hotel, now can we?” said to a slightly disappointed Ianto, who just wanted to rest his feet.  The next thing Ianto knew they were off to some club in the ride from hell.  Jack seemed to be enjoying the madcap taxi ride that topped anything one would experience in Cairo, Egypt, each turn an opportunity to for one’s organs to be rearranged.  Ianto clung to the door like a dying organ donor recipient to a telephone. 

“I thought you needed to check with some contacts out here?” Ianto asked while the taxi took yet another turn.  “I didn’t know there was an active Institute out here.”

“Ah, active but not visible,” answered Jack.

“You haven’t told me which club we’re going.”

“The Black Blanc Beur,” Jack said with affectation as taxi’s abrupt stop nearly hurled Ianto through the windshield. “The premiere gay soiree in Paris that puts the Moulin Rouge to shame.”

Jack bounced out of the taxi with boyish anticipation while Ianto struggled with his grammar school French to pay the taxi.  When he caught up with him, Jack was nearly in the door, gawking at a handful of youngish brown queens who looked like a 70s gay pride throwback bouncing happily and tossing fairy dust at everyone they passed.  “I’m not sure I’m dressed for this,” Ianto said sheepishly.

“They’ll love you, don’t worry!” Jack turned around abruptly walked back toward the hesitant Ianto and tugged him forward by the elbow.

Ianto resisted further, “Jack!”  Ianto pulled him to the side, away from another door full of patrons, and whispered in his ear, “I’ve never been to a gay bar.”

“Pshaw!” Jack dismissed.  “Just be slutty and things will be fine.”  Jack started dragging him then added, “Listen, what do I always say about straight boys?”

Ianto was nearly knocked over by yet another set of revelers entering the club, “Straight guys only hate gay guys because they’re jealous – straight guys at least gotta buy a girl a happy meal.”

“Correct!” said Jack while he shoved Ianto in the door and in front of a large stereotype of a bouncer with “Gus’s love toy” stamped to his left bicep.  The behemoth gave Ianto a sneer, “Are you lost or something?”

Just as Ianto began to a mental inventory of the Krag Maga techniques Sarah recently taught him, Jack bellowed from behind him, “ _Cecil vous Tramp!   Venir me faire un câlin et baiser avant que je vous tourne sur mon geno_!” (Ceil you tramp!  Come give me a hug and kiss before I turn you over my knee!)

The snarling tiger, upon seeing Jack, became a YouTube cuddly kitten.  “ _Jack, chérie, où avez-vous été ? Je l'ai raté ces mouvements de danse très sexy de la vôtre_! (Jack, darling, where have you been?  I've missed those sexy dance moves of yours!)”

Jack hugged the bouncer and they exchanged double cheek kisses, as is the custom in this part of Europe.  “ _Il a été trop long , l'amour , trop longtemps_. (It has been too long love, too long).”

The leviathan turned his attention to the confused Ianto, who by this point was more than a little irritated that Jack had let him stumble through with chicken French and a poor excuse of a translation app while they played tourist earlier that day.  Cecil, while dressing down Ianto, asked Jack, “ _Quand avez-vous commencé vierges putain_? (When did you start fucking virgins?)

Jack grabbed Ianto and put his arms around him then replied, “ _S'il vous plaît , être gentil ! Parfois, quelque chose de frais est juste ce que l'on a besoin , vous ne pensez pas_? (Please, be kind! Sometimes something fresh is just what one needs, don't you think?)”  He kissed Ianto possessively which did nothing but confuse Ianto further.

Cecil shook his head, “ _Harkness, tu m'étonnes! Qu'est-ce qui vous amène ici en dehors de l'évidence_? (Harkness, you amaze me!  What brings you here besides the obvious?”

“Charlye?” Jack asked.

“ _A propos de venir sur scène en ce moment , l'amour_. (About to come on stage right now, love.).”  The bouncer bowed and ushered the two of them in.  Jack grabbed Ianto’s hand and walked down the club’s blackened corridor.

The Folies Pigalle where the The Black Blanc Beur parties take place, are the destination for gays and lesbians of color in Paris, someplace where those of North African, Arabic, or Turkish decent can party and be safe at night then get support services during the day – a perfect hiding place for Torchwood Paris.  Unlike other locales, this Hub wasn’t tolerated let alone supported by the French government.  This was primarily because although there was a small rift no rift activity or alien presence been recorded in France since the Revolution (as things went badly, some whispered that Robespierre was an alien plant).  The idea of a Torchwood Institute like the ones in other parts of the world was further discredited by Hitler’s excessive investment in opening the Parisian rift in his hopeless attempts to communicate with the Gods he knew would recognize his elite race and support his spread of the Third Reich (He was also thusly invested because the Berlin rift had been mysteriously destroyed during WWI).   During the late 70s and early 80s there were small incursions from alien creatures but nothing that called for anything formal.  No one quite knew how but overtime monitoring the rift became the “cause celeb” of the gay community, particularly of the Black gay community – it gave them purpose and, for some, hope that somewhere in the universe there was a place where they could be more than just tolerated – there were even rumors that the rapid scientific advances with regards to AIDs were fundamentally alien technology.

With reluctance, the French government allowed the construction of a formal Hub.  The Institute placed Jack “on loan” there to start things in the early 90s after the AIDs pandemic had decimated the queer community in Paris, including many of the early Hub “volunteer crew”.  “We need a quietly run Hub Harkness,” instructed the Institute’s chairperson at the time, “Please don’t taint it with your usual finesse for debauchery”.  Jack, not being one for sexual labels, created a club around Folies Pigalle a “place for anyone who loved fun and lots of it” but kept the Thursday night drag shows and the Sunday night gay tea parties.   Years from now, while visiting Ianto at the nursing home, Jack would recount many tales of his days as a” ½ time club manager, ½ time Torchwood operative” in hopes of prompting even the slightest smile from his demented and dying love.

From the outside in the daytime, the Folies Pigalle looked like boarded up warehouse wrapped in glass rods like a Christmas gift from your Aunt Mary.  But at night, that glass lights the night sky, promising all kinds of fabulous and exciting debauchery.   Once inside, a short hallway with blacked walls led to the admission and coat check booth.  A bored, nondescript blonde asked for the standard cover from Jack and Ianto but was immediately interrupted by a dark-skinned Betty Boop with a “Billy”name tag, who whispered frantically, “ _Fou! Vous ne savez pas de qui il est_? (Fool!  Don't you know who that is?).  She affected a bounce like an eager schoolgirl in a 70s porn movie as she came from behind the booth.  “Mr. Harkness!” she said, effecting a classic stance, overused make-up no longer sufficiently covering crow’s feet and puffy eyes commonly seen in those who worked too many nights.  “Do you remember me?”

Jack touched her face as if his hands magically made her young and beautiful again, “Of course I do Betty.”  He placed a reassuring kiss on her nose which aroused a coquettish giggle.  “Why didn’t you go to Hollywood like I told you?  Roger tried to get a hold of you for days!”

“I know.  I’m truly sorry,” she said shamefully.  “But I just had to get clean, I mean really clean for once.  And I did, I got off of everything!”  She proudly pulled down her long white gloves and showed Jack her well-healed over track marks.  “It, it took a while, more than a few trips to treatment.  But I’ve been clean 6 years straight now and, well, I have here after all.”

Jack gave the woman a bear hug for he didn’t want her to see his face – Billy was another victim of human intolerance.  She had talent and really could have been a star, if she had been born a straight white man in New York who didn’t adore stylized, vintage women’s clothes.  “You’re always be beautiful, hon,” he said, trying to soak up his tears in the lie.

Billy appreciate his deception and teasingly pushed him away, then turned her attention to Ianto, “ _Maintenant, qui est ce délicieux bits_? (Now who is this tasty bit?)”  She draped a finger around Ianto’s neck down to the bottom of his tie and tugged it ever so slightly while licking her lips. “ _Et partagez-vous_? (And are you sharing?)”

“ _Il est mon mari_ (He’s my husband),” Ianto stated using the one French phrased he memorized before leaving Cardiff.

Jack grinned then nodded in affirmation and handed Billy his coat.  “Is Ahmed around?”

“In his office, as always.”

Jack took Ianto through the swinging saloon doors into the main room.  Ianto expected something more stereotypical, a bar stretching endlessly with leather clad sweaty men in various states of intoxicated fetish rapture.  Instead, there was a shortened T shaped stage with tables for two and four neatly surrounding it and space for couples to dance – more like Fred and Ginger’s _Top Hat_ than Al Pacino’s _Crusin’_.  The lighting was subdued but enough to make out the patron’s faces – slightly more men than women, some in expected queer costume while others seemed as if they just came from an office job.  Most were talking like old friends but there were some hiding themselves in the darker corners, newbies shyly sipping at some fruity drink, eagerly awaiting the show and hoping someone would take pity on them and approach first.

Jack found them a 2 top next to the stage.  An oiled slick nearly naked, cream colored waiter covered with silver glitter immediately came up to them, “ _Qu'est-ce que vous aurez à boire , messieurs_? (What will you have to drink, sirs?)”

“Ah, yes!  Two Sizzlers, please,” answered Jack.  The waiter acknowledged the order and turned to enter the order but not before giving Ianto a _aren’t you the lucky one_ look. 

“What’s a Sizzler?” Ianto asked.

“Amazing, that’s what it is!” answered Jack.  The waiter quickly arrived back with two champagne glasses with something dissolving, offering additional effervesce bubble from the bottom of the flute.  Jack took a long gulp, as was his way but Ianto was a bit more cautious.  “Don’t worry!  It’s just some bubbly with a little kick to it.”  Jack paid the waiter with a large bill, but before he left, Jack whispered in his ear and the waiter eagerly pointed to a door across the room.  Jack took another bill and put it in the waiter’s G-string and patted his ass with a wink.

Ianto took a sip, finding it dry and not too sweet.  He didn’t get what the “kick” was Jack was talking about but before he could ask about it, a baritone announcer dressed in black tie came on stage and announced the first musical act, Charlye and the Sirens.  When Charlye came out, saw Jack, and the two blew kisses at one another.

“You’re going to love this!” Jack said to Ianto.  “No lip syncing here, no way.”  He downed the rest of his drink, pulled a handful of Euros from his pocket and tossed them on the table.  “Be sure to tip graciously, Ianto.  I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Ianto interrupted, “what’s in this drink anyway?”

“Oh, ah, J. Laurens Brut with a MDMA tablet, I think.”

Ianto thought for a minute, “MDMA – you mean Ecstasy?”

“You’ll be fine,” said Jack before he kissed Ianto on the forehead.  “Stay here and enjoy the music.  I’ll be right back”.  He made a gesture for Charlye to keep an eye on his husband.

Jack dashed off before Ianto could figure out how to be mad at him.

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And read some more!

Chapter Four

 

David Williams had joined the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s office wanting a quiet life of ordinary police work – robberies, drug interdictions, and traffic accidents with the occasional rape or murder case so they could justify a CSI department in an ever tightening county budget.  The last thing his ulcer needed was a mass shooting, let alone what had turned out to be a terrorist attack.  “Shit like this brings on a whole lotta national attention!” he told his wife, Francine.  “The FBI’s all over this already and the fuckers haven’t even left the office.”  He was not only worried that looming budget problems would be revealed before the Sheriff was ready but that any mistakes made in their initial response to the scene and investigation would blow up in their faces.  Prior to all this, Williams was up for a promotion, on track to be Sheriff himself one day and he didn’t want his chance ruined by some rookie bagging the evidence wrong or missing critical clue thus making the department, especially him, look bad.  “This can’t screw up, not now!” he said to himself while sitting in his home office, draining his third Budweiser.   

“Those beers aren’t going to help,” Francine said as she grabbed the empties and went to answer the front door.  “Now who is that this time of night?”  She opened the door to see Martha and Mikey.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Martha Jones.  I’m looking for Assistant Sheriff Williams.”

“Francine!  Is that Martha Jones?” shouted Williams.

“Yes,” answered Francine, whose barely conscious bigotry and justifiable jealousy, was communicated in body language that treated the Torchwood investigators like Jehovah’s Witnesses on an early Saturday morning.

“Well, let her in! Williams shouted again, “I’ve been expecting her.”

Francine thought it brazen of her husband to let his latest mistress come to the front door and with another man at that – she knew of his rather kinky outside activities but didn’t feel she should have to have it put in her face.  This was going to cost her husband at least another pearl necklace – she didn’t have her looks any longer but she did have her jewelry.  “Please come in honey!” she said, her voice sweet like cheap dollar store chocolate.

Mrs. Williams’ behavior was not missed by Mikey.  “Why thank you, ma’am,” he sneered back.

While being escorted to Assistant Sheriff Williams’ office, Martha gave Mickey a _Really, did you need to do that_ look.  He simply shrugged.

When they arrived in the room, Williams offered a feign attempt to unruffled his wife’s feathers, “Ah, Dr. Jones!  Good to see you.”  He pointed to Mickey, “A colleague?”

“This is my husband, Mickey Smith.  He is an investigator at U.N.I.T.,” Martha explained while both shook Williams’ hand.

“Ah, congratulations to you too,” Williams again responded in a matter of small talk commonly employed in uncomfortable social gatherings.  He turned to his wife, hoping to lower the bill for her next shopping spree, “I met Dr. Jones when I was at the FBI National Academy two years ago.”

Martha gave Williams an apologetic look as it appeared all the stories he gave of his wife over Starbucks coffee when they were at the Academy were not exaggerated.  “Yes, he was one of the best students in my forensics class.”

“I’m sure,” Francine replied.

Williams was tired of his wife’s endless jealousy – it was wholly unjustified in this case.  He had slept with many co-eds during the 15-week course but Martha wasn’t one of them – he had too much respect for her and she had too much respect for the kind of officer he could be.  “Francine, why don’t you get our guests some drinks?”

“Oh no, but thank you.  We have a flight to catch,” Martha interjected.

Francine acted like she was going to stay, so Williams insisted she leave, “Francine, why don’t you get yourself another drink, eh?”  When she left the room, he closed and locked the door behind her.  He returned to his guests and shrugged, his shoulders dripping with resignation.

Mickey rescued him, “We spoke to Sheriff McMahon but all he gave us we already knew from the FBI reports and CNN.  Your note indicated you had something more.”

Assistant Sheriff Williams nodded and walked behind his desk.  He unlocked a drawer and retrieved a large evidence bag.  “I found this in the terrorists’ apartment when we made the initial sweep, before the techies swarmed it.”  He handed Mickey the bag which contained what looked like a bright white roll of dough or clay but as Mickey grabbed it, the bag moved violently.

“What the fuck!” hollered Mickey.  “What is it?”

“Hell if I know,” said Williams.  “It looks like something you U.N.I.T. types would handle.” 

Martha took the bag from Mickey while the creature inside it shook even more violently.   She peered around the sides of the bag and found what could be described as a mouth with hideous teeth and a horn where a nose would be at one end.  “Where did you find it?”

“In the freezer,” said Williams who opened an opposite draw, this time withdrawing a bottle of cheap bourbon and a glass, unwashed from its last use.  “It didn’t start moving like that until I got it home and it _defrosted_ , I guess,” he said while pouring himself a large double shot.  “Listen, this shit’s already messed up enough without some kind of alien crap wrapped in,” Williams downed his drink like liquid courage.  “Anyway, you guys handle that stuff, don’t you?  I didn’t tell anyone, not the Sheriff or the FBI and I need for you to keep it that way.  The sooner this county is cleaned and rid of this case the better!”

Martha looked at the trapped man sympathetically, “I understand.  No one will connect you with this, I promise.  Thank you.”

Williams nodded and poured himself another double shot.

*******************************************

Ianto couldn’t tell if Charlye and the Sirens were good or if Ecstasy was the best dope in human history.  All he knew is that he was getting warm all over, he just had taken off his suit jacket and tie, and, if Jack Harkness didn’t get back soon, the dark-skinned Amazon (she was winking at him from across the room, wasn’t she?) was going to enjoy some unforgettable cunnilingus in the closest dark corner.

The karaoke music was high tech – more like the real band sounds accompanying singers on The Voice or American Idol.  During the brief piano interlude that introduced the song, Charlye came forward underneath the spot light - dressed in skin-tight jeans, ankles stuck inside shiny black army boots with a matching baggy shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing a tattoo barely visible on darker skin (later Ianto would get a closer look – it said _Property of Baby_ in bold script, and reddish dyed hair cut like a model advertising how you could “be an Army of one”.  The voice was a mellow tenor’s croon – Sinatra dreaming of a lost love.  The Sirens were a team of three Nubian queens singing soprano, dolled up like the Supremes.  Throughout the song they stayed in the background with wistful, smoky lighting framing them.  The singer and the chorus asked then answered one another throughout the ballad, encouraged by orchestration from an imaginary band.

A karaoke of a The Babies, “Isn’t It Time?” - Ianto was enthralled.

_Falling in love was the last thing I had on my mind_

_Holding you is a warmth that I thought I could never find_

_(Sitting here all alone)_

_Just trying to decide_

_(Whether to go all alone)_

_Or stay by your side_

_(Then I stop myself because)_

_I know I could cry_

_I just can't find the answers_

_To the questions that keep going through my mind_

_Hey babe_

_Isn't it time_

_(Isn't it time it took time to wait)_

_(Falling in love could be your mistake)_

_Isn't it time_

_(Isn't it time you took time to wait)_

_(Falling in love could be your mistake)_

 

When Jack reached the door marked “Manager – KEEP OUT!”, before going in, he turned to check on Ianto.  Satisfied that his husband was okay, he let himself in.  Inside was a Torchwood Hub of much smaller and much more modest arrangements than previous Cardiff space.  He looked around, smiling slightly as memories of the good times he had in this place came back to him.  Things were arranged differently, it didn’t have the buzzing busy sounds of a busy team fighting demons and aliens, both psychological and otherworldly that it once had.  But it still had the antiquated equipment haphazardly stacked best as could be expected in tight quarters of what was not much larger than someone’s living-room.  The smells of cheap booze, sweaty sexy, and hard work were still there – and so was Ahmed, draped over like a desert vulture at a tilted, rickety wood drafting table, just like Jack left him decades earlier.

“I told you not to bother me tonight!” Ahmed complained angrily without looking up.  “What the fuck do I have to do around here to get some peace and quiet?”

Jack stepped into the room further, leaving the door slight ajar, and stood statuesque, affecting his disarming smile.  “Haven’t cleaned up this place since I left, eh?”

Ahmed looked up at his door, adjusting his half-glasses as if doing so would change the image. Once he accepted the presence of this unwanted ghost from his past, he sat up slowly, sighed heavily, and moved his dark, shoulder-length hair away from his face.  “You came back, eh?”

Jack figured Ahmed was a bit pissed at him still but charm had worked before so, “. . . . I’d hoped you’d be glad to see me.”  When Ahmed did not move, somehow Jack thought it was okay to come close enough to him so that they weren’t shouting over the music from the hall.  “I’m glad you’re still here.  I don’t trust the upper management to choose anyone better to run this place.”

When Jack got close enough, Ahmed did turn around enough to slap him just like it happens in the movies.  Jack fell back a few paces but not from shock.  “Really Harkness!  You waltz back here without a word for what, 20 years?  Then expect me to be happy, open legged, and welcoming open arms?”

“Well,” responded Jack while he rubbed his right cheek, “it really has only been 16 years and I’m not sure the open legs would go over very well with Ianto as we haven’t had a chance to talk about that sort of thing yet.” 

Ahmed slapped Jack’s other cheek.  Ahmed didn’t say anything this time.  He just stood there for a moment and stared angrily then abruptly stood up and walked away from the desk, settling himself against a set of tall file cabinets on the other side of the room.  He shook his head, trying to stay mad at the man who had saved his life so many years ago.

_I've seen visions of someone like you in my life_

_A love that's strong reaching out_

_Holding me through the darkest night_

_(Sitting here all alone)_

_Just trying to decide_

_(Whether to go all alone)_

_Or stay by your side_

_(Then I stop myself because)_

_I don't want to cry_

_I just can't find the answers_

_To the questions that keep going through my mind_

_Hey babe_

_Isn't it time_

_(Isn't it time it took time to wait)_

_(Falling in love could be your mistake)_

_Isn't it time_

_(Isn't it time you took time to wait)_

_(Falling in love could be your mistake)_

 

Jack met Ahmed in Paris’ back alleys shortly after Jack arrived in town many years ago.  Ahmed was a half-starved 17-year-old pulling street tricks and pickpocketing his rich johns for drug money.  Jack nearly became one of his foils but knocked him out before Ahmed was able to slip off the vortex manipulator.  Jack carried him back to the Folies Pigalle, which was nothing more than a rundown munitions storehouse once used by the Nazi’s during the war.  Jack had just bought it from the city before its scheduled demolition to make room for a McDonald’s.  Once he cleaned him up, Jack discovered a scared Moroccan boy who had runaway from home once he was caught giving a blowjob to a school mate.  He’d arrived in Paris, nearly beaten to death, with the escape money his mother had squirrelled away over the years in hopes of one day having the courage to leave his father.  “I think you need this more than me,” she said as she handed it to Ahmed.  He would never see her again – according to his sister, his father killed his mother shortly after learning what she had done.

Ahmed was bright, loved details, and had a photographic memory - had he lived in the States or the UK, he would have been anything from a computer developer to an accountant.  Jack couldn’t have rebuilt the Paris Hub nor the club without him and for a while, they were inseparable.  New team members naturally thought they were a couple but Jack saw him more as son.  When he wasn’t working, Jack got drunk and crawled into then out of the beds of various Paris elites.  One night, when Jack was especially hammered, Ahmed snuck into the room Jack used when he wanted to pass out comfortably.  When Jack awoke the next morning, he was horrified at what he’d done, albeit Ahmed admitted to taking advantage of the situation.  From that moment until his transfer back to England, Jack kept his distance and Ahmed sunk for quite some time into an angry melancholy.

“Did the Institute send you?” Ahmed finally asked, moving his hair away from his face again revealing slightly noticeable graying.

“They said you have some intel about the terrorist attacks.”  Jack started to move forward but then thought the better of it.  Ahmed was no longer a tall waif of a boy but a steely strong man and clearly he had not forgiven Jack.  “Listen, Ahmed, I was in no place back then to be anyone’s partner.  You know my last wife had left me just before I came here, and she had taken our daughter with her.  That’s why the Institute honored my request for a temporary transfer.”  Jack looked at Ahmed pleadingly, “I couldn’t have done you any good back then.  You should have moved on, built your own life.”

“I see you did,” Ahmed said, pointing to the shiny ring on Jack’s wedding band.

Jack opened the door more and pointed at Ianto, “We got married a few days ago.”  He looked at his hand and absent-mindedly twirled the center of the ring, “Most of your team is still here?”

“Yes, we’ve been lucky.”  Ahmed was softening.  “I read the reports of what happened in Cardiff and, of course, everyone knows about the 456.  I’m truly sorry.”

Jack bristled briefly at the reminder.  “We’re putting things back together.”  He looked back at a more animated Ianto, busily throwing Euros at Charlye.

_I feel a warmth in my heart_

_And my soul that I never knew_

_This love affair gives me strength_

_That I need just to get me through_

_(Sitting here all alone)_

_Just wondering why_

_(Then I stop myself because)_

_I know I could cry_

_(Then I think of you)_

_And everything seems alright_

_I've finally found the answers_

_To the questions that keep going through my mind_

_Hey babe_

_Isn't it time_

_(Isn't it time you don't have to wait)_

_(Don't have to wait)_

_I know it's time_

_(Losing this love could be your mistake)_

 

The sound of Ahmed opening the metal drawer returned Jack to the matter at hand.  “Here, this should interest you.”  He walked over and handed Jack a dossier.  “The Paris police found emails and text messages that mentioned modified DNA experiments and expected packages from off-world contacts.  Also, the female suicide bomber involved in the attacks was pregnant.”

“I thought the police corrected that fact and said the bomber was a man and that she was killed in the raid in Saint-Denis?” asked Jack.

Ahmed shook his head, “A media ruse.  It was the female cousin of Abdelhamid Abaaoud alright.”

“What’s the significance of her being pregnant?”

“Look at the last few pages.” 

Jack looked at the ultrasound then the forensic photo of what was left of a fetus after autopsy but still didn’t understand.  “So her baby was severely malformed.  It happens even in the best of terrorist families.”

“I don’t know but this doesn’t look like any run of the mill screwed up pregnancy.  And, according to my sister, usually such deformities lead to miscarriages early on.”

“How far along was she?”

“Six, maybe seven months.”  Ahmed pulled a box from the drawer and handed it to Jack. “My sister couldn’t get you everything but she was able to save some DNA samples from the fetus before the case got snatched from her.”

“Your sister is a doctor?”

Ahmed went back to the seat at his desk.  “Yeah, she went to live with my aunt, my mother’s sister, after my father was arrested.  She works for the Paris police in their forensics department.  She knows about Torchwood but I won’t let her anywhere near this rift shit!  Someone in my family has got to be sane.”

_Ooh yeah_

_(Isn't it time)_

_I know it's time_

_(Isn't it time you don't have to wait)_

_It must be time_

_(Don't have to wait)_

_(Losing this love could be your mistake)_

_(Isn't it time)_

_It must be time_

_(Isn't time you don't have to wait)_

_(Don't have to wait)_

_It oughta be time_

_(Losing this love could be your mistake)_

_(Isn't it time)_

_(Isn't it time you don't have to wait)_

_(Don't have to wait)_

_It must be time_

_(Losing this love could be your mistake)_

_(Isn't it time)_

 

Jack started to say something but Ahmed waved his hand, stopping him, “It’s alright.  Nothing else need be said.”  He looked around Jack to the club floor, as the next act was being announced.  “I suggest however you check on your husband as it seems he’s left the area.”

“Oh shit.”

By the time Jack reached the table, the announcer was indicating there was a change in the schedule and that a newcomer was about to take the stage.  Only after seeing that Ianto’s suit jacket, vest, tie and shirt laying on the back of the chair, did Jack realize that the name the French announcer had butchered was not “Tonto Bones” but “Ianto Jones”.  Also, Ianto had had a second drink.  “This should be interesting,” Jack said aloud.

Clearly Charlye was behind this since the person who came from around the curtain and stood under the stage lights was not the primly dressed man Jack had married just the other day but some progressive punk rocker, dripping in artistic existential dread.  Frankly, Jack was amazed that Ianto even knew the song, Blue Gillespie’s _Black Waltz,_ a tune from Jack’s iPod.  He was also surprised Ianto could sing but glad to see him in a tight white t-shirt and jeans.

_Been swinging dead animals_

_in a room that's too small_

_Nowhere to sit down the ceilings real low_

_Kill all the boredom,_

_I stand on my hands_

_Then I hear music_

_from someplace around_

_Lingering, dwindling,_

_delicate sound_

_A lady appeared_

_She said this could end_

_Dressed in black ribbons_

_Black silk and black lace_

_I see my dead love_

_In the lines of her face_

 

“Now, now Jack Harkness, someone may think you were jealous!” he said to himself as he watched the attention Ianto’s deep baritone voice and grinding hips were getting from the crowd.  “Getting out of here is going to require either an orgy or a fist-fight”.

********************************

Jack opened the hotel room curtains before getting into the shower.  The late morning light went straight into the back of Ianto’s close eyes, awakening him in the worst way.  He turned his head to escape but found moving only made the headache worse.  “Damn!” he said while trying to pull the corner of a bed sheet over his head.  This didn’t work either as he met resistance.  He tugged harder only to get a whimper and further resistance.  He heard Jack happily singing in the shower, so what was pulling at the sheet?  He sat up, daringly opening one eye then sat up slightly and realized there was another person in the bed with him.  He immediately laid back down, trying to figure out who this person was and how this person got into his hotel bed.  The night was a bit fuzzy – his last memory was of giving Euros to a nice male singer.  “Oh no!” he said and bolted up into a fully seated position.  The person sleepily shifted, turning away from Ianto.  He more closely peered at the body then recognized the face.  It was Charlye!  Ianto tried harder to remember what happened – there was singing, more of that Sizzler drink, lots of laughter, maybe even a moment when Jack tried to convince him that eating would be a good idea but all in all things were still jumbled.

Just then, Jack came back in the room, a bath towel poorly wrapped around his waist.  “Good, you’re awake,” he said.  “Hurry up and we can get a quick bite before going to the airport.”

Ianto, still disoriented, looked around further and noticed numerous condom wrappers tossed haphazardly on both nightstands.  Charlye wiggled again then turned over, tits firm and round like soup bowls and a black strap-on both still glistening with lube sitting firm and high.  She stretched her legs and arms, then turned sweetly toward Ianto and purred in her heavily accented English, “Hello Cherie!  Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

“What I can remember of it,” Ianto replied sheepishly.

She sat up, stretched some more then curled up against Ianto then purred in his ear, “Are all you Welsh boys so, vigorous?  If so, I must get me one the next time I’m in the UK, eh?”  She giggled and bounced off the bed and into the bathroom.

Ianto looked at Jack.  “I thought . . . I thought he, I mean she, was just a good looking guy!’

“Charlye’s a drag king and well-sought after one at that,” Jack said nonchalantly.

“She’s bisexual?”

Charlye opened the door and stuck her head out to correct him, “No, no mon Cherie!  I am human!”  She giggled again, closed the door and turned on the shower.

Ianto sat back against the headboard, trying again to organize tidbits of his memories from last night.  Jack decided to calm his mind.  “Don’t worry,” he said while putting on his suspenders, “I will reenact each moment for you once we get home.”

Ianto liked that idea.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting good,eh?

Chapter Five

 

When Jack and Ianto returned to the Hub, Jack looked through the suites to see which of his newly formed “team” had returned from their assignments.  He found Rabbi Aliyah in her quarters, sweetly serenading Anwen with a traditional Israeli lullaby:

_Numi, numi yaldati,_

_Numi, numi, nim (Sleep, my little girl, sleep)._

_Numi, numi k'tanati,_

_Numi, numi, nim (Sleep, my darling one, sleep)._

_Aba halach la'avoda (Daddy has gone off to work)_

_Halach, halach Aba (To work, to work he's gone)._

_Yashuv im tzeit halevana (He'll be back when the moon rises)_

_Yavi lach matana (with a gift for his little one)!_

 

Aliyah swayed back and forth, smiling and singing quietly, holding Anwen close.  The baby watched the older woman’s lips intently, occasionally grabbing at Aliyah’s glasses or nose.  Jack watched the scene from the doorway.  He heard the baby gurgle and saw that she was starting to fall asleep.  He remembered singing lullabies to his daughter and her cooing then falling asleep in his arms – tears formed and he wondered if Ianto wanted children.

Once Aliyah was certain Anwen was asleep, she placed her in the basinet and turned on the monitor, placing it on a nearby nightstand.  She smiled at Jack before turning down the lights and joining him in the hallway.  “I convinced them that it was a safer to leave Anwen with me, as they were only going to be away for a fortnight,” she whispered as she closed the door.  “She is a good baby, such a nice disposition!”

“You do realize that song is highly sexist.,” replied Jack as he quickly wiped his face with his hands.  “Gwen would have a fit.”

If his comment had been important, she may have rolled her eyes but Jack wasn’t fooling his old teacher.  She rested a hand on his back, offering assurance, and coerced him down the hallway, “Ianto appreciates your immortality much better than your wife did.  You two should have no trouble starting and keeping a family.”  She matter-of-factly removed her half-glasses to her nose and continued, “Have you two decided which one of you is going to carry it or are you going to get a surrogate?”

“What have you found out regarding our alien terrorist problem?”  Jack was not going into it now.

Aliyah stopped walking, forcing Jack to turn around and come back to her.  “You haven’t talked about children yet?”  Here was her nagging-motherly tone again.  “I have it on good authority that Ianto wants three kids.”

“You do, huh?” Jack said sarcastically.

“We discussed it extensively during our pre-wedding consultation.  Agreement about these things is critical to a successful marriage.”

“Funny but I don’t recall receiving a ‘pre-wedding consultation’.”

She took out a cloth from her pocket and started cleaning her glasses, “Why would I bother Harkness when you don’t listen to anyone’s advice anyway!”  She walked past him to the Hub kitchen.  “Where is Ianto?  I’d murder for a good cup of coffee.”

“He went to bed.  We didn’t get much sleep in Paris,” he said.

“I’d imagine not,” Aliyah acknowledged with levity.  “I am assuming therefore that you didn’t tell him.”

“You’re not being fair, Aliyah,” he pouted.

“Jack!  You can’t start this marriage on a lie.  This is why things fell apart for you before.”  She was about to pour the filtered water into the Keurig but hesitated.  She decided to take a different, less maternal approach with him, “The Doctor only intervened because you promised to tell Ianto the truth afterwards.”

“Yeah but he didn’t say when!”

“True,” she conceded, “but are you going to wait until the next time you’re shot and you don’t immediately bounce back or when he begs you to do it again the next time he is injured?”

**************************************

_Go ahead and hate your neighbor_

_Go ahead and cheat a friend_

_Do it in the name of Heaven_

_You can justify it in the end_

_There won't be any trumpets blowing_

_Come the judgment day_

_On the bloody morning after who..._

_One tin soldier rides away_

  * _One Tin Solider (version sung by Coven for the movie “Legend of Billy Jack”)_



 

Pinned against the side of a building, bullets whizzing and exploding past her head made Gwen happy she’d left Anwen at the Hub.  Then, Rhys, just behind her reloading his shotgun, had to verbalize her thoughts, “Ianto’s right, since we are staying at Torchwood, we need godparents.”

“Okay, okay!  But first let’s survive this gun fight, why don’t we” she responded before making a dash around the corner to send out a round, and long enough for the S.W.A.T. team across the way to make a dash to a point closer to the terrorist shooters.

She exchanged with Rhys her now empty pistol for the reloaded shotgun.   She rethought her initial irritation with him – she married him because he was sensible, didn’t she convince herself?  “Yes, but we never confirmed things now did we, eh?”  Rhys rummaged in the duffle bag then asked, “Grenades?” 

Gwen let out a few shots to give the team in position opposite them time to make another move but the timing was off and she nearly got nicked in the shoulder.  “Yeah, that may offer better cover,” she said taking the grenade and giving the shotgun back to him.  She gestured to the team her intensions and the leader nodded acknowledged.  She mouthed, “One, two, and three . . .!”  then pitched the grenade like a professional softball player before whipping herself back around the corner in a crouching position over Rhys.

“I think I should be on top,” he complained when they stood up.

“Stop being such a sexist!”  she responded after peering around the corner, checking the position of the S.W.A.T. members.

“It isn’t sexist,” Rhys complained, “I’m just bulkier, can take more with doing as much damage, I can!”

She flashed him a quick grin that said “I love you too”, took another look which confirmed the team was in the second position and ran over to another safe spot behind another building closer to the target.  Rhys, carrying the heavy arsenal bag joined her seconds later.

Gwen’s “friend from uni” was Rayne Stonegarden, leader of a newly formed Anti-Terrorist task force, comprised of France and Belgium’s top sharpshooters, undercover investigators, and individuals recommended or volunteered from each country’s local police.   When Gwen contacted Rayne, she was open to allowing access to information but her superiors were less than willing to share with their EU partners – the reality of the historic European unification was that it did not extend much beyond commerce and continental vacation travel.  “Unless you can pull some strings, hon, I’m afraid my hands are tied here,” Rayne replied during their initial phone call.  Luckily, Gwen had two strong strings, former PC now Chief Inspector Andy Davidson and the new personal assistant to the Home Secretary, Lois Habiba - both had been promoted as a result of their “honorable and heroic efforts during the 456 Crisis”.  A few phone calls later had Gwen and Rhys with “special agent consultation credentials on loan from her Majesty’s Investigative Task Force on European Anti-Terrorism Efforts”.  This however only went so far, as Brussels, every suspicious of British intentions, would only allow them to tag along behind Rayne’s team with “no access to previously collected, unprocessed information”.  When Rhys and Gwen arrived at her office and protested the silly caveat, Rayne shrugged in a that’s-just-the-way-it-is manner and Gwen remembered that it was this same laisse-faire approach to duty that put her Rayne in a position to need help with her final exams.

Luckily, a call came in from an informant shortly after Torchwood’s arrival.  Investigators had identified the second apartment rented by Abdelhamid Abaaoud, the mastermind of the Paris attacks, in the Brussels’ predominately Arab district of Molenbeek.  It was possible the location contained additional co-conspirators and evidence of future planned attacks.  But someone had warned the residents of the building, embittered young, poor, second-generation Muslims who weren’t so much ISIS supporters as they were people sick of being oppressed.  Gwen would later lament she didn’t disregard Jack’s order – all three governments demanded that Torchwood “remain silent on the matter”.  “But it wasn’t a raid,” Gwen later admitted to Rabbi Aliyah, “It was a massacre.  Those people weren’t terrorists with sophisticated weapons but teenagers and middle-aged shopkeepers with bottles and bee-bee guns.” When it was over, Rhys and Gwen watched Belgium forensics arrive with dummy guns to put next to 37 dead bodies so that Rayne could show pictures to her superiors justifying the carnage.

Gwen could console herself with two facts however – the apartment did contain an arsenal of weapons that would now never be used to kill people guilty of doing nothing more than having a nice night out as well as conclusive evidence that the pointed to fact that ISIS had alien support.

*****************************************

Jack was in the Hub’s kitchen when he took the urgency call from the British Home Office and emergency call from Gwen.  He held no regrets in this matter as he agreed with The Doctor on matters such as these – “humans create more reasons to kill one another than any other species in the galaxies”.  But the difference between Jack and The Doctor was the for the former the saying was gospel while for the latter it was a reflection of irritation with Earth’s dominant species.  After disconnecting the phone, Jack heard Ianto’s footsteps.  “Finally!  You’ve returned to the land of the living.”

Ianto grunted and stumbled to the Keurig shirtless and wearing Jack’s pajama bottoms –  a sign that he needed a quick fix.  “How long have I been out?”

“Mmm,” Jack looked at the clock on the wall, “It’s after 10am.”

“Have I missed anything?” Ianto asked while preparing the machine.

“Gwen and Rhys should be back soon,” Jack half-lied, “And Martha and Mickey’s plane comes in mid-day tomorrow.  Sarah is consulting with our good Rabbi.”  Eyes still half-closed, Ianto searched the cupboard for his I-need-to-wake-up-now mug.  Jack kindly retrieved it from the dishwasher – a sign he had done some tiding while Ianto slept, which warmed Ianto to no end.

In the past, to Jack such a grateful grin from his partner would mean he could get away with a lot for at least a month.  In most ways, Ianto was unmanageable - unlike Jack’s previous lovers all it took was a boutique of flowers, a trashy trinket, or a flashy car.  And maybe he was different, maybe Jack Harkness was just tired of meaningless complications, high drama, and silly intergalactic groupies who approached his immortality like fairy dust they could slurp up with his cum.  He always felt a bit of guilt when he tossed them aside permanently but not for very long, as another was always readily available to replace the last.  Ianto was different and now the marriage was already starting with a deficit – his earlier conversation with the rabbi reminded him of such.  So, instead of smiling as was his usual way, Jack said grimly, “We have to talk.”

“Talk later, coffee first.”  Ianto had not caught the seriousness in Jack’s voice and continued careful preparation of his morning tonic.

Jack yanked the cup from Ianto and firmly ensconced it beneath the Keurig then dragged Ianto over to the kitchen counter.  “I’ll forgive you faster after the first sip and completely after I’ve finished the cup,” Ianto responded half-jokingly.

The suddenness of Jack’s jerking led to Ianto knocking over a glass of water Jack had been drinking from while on the previous calls.  Jack backed off a bit to avoid the liquid and the glass shattering on the tile floor led to Ianto’s automatic response, a move toward the kitchen closet.  “Leave it!” commanded Jack.

This command received a brief silence as Ianto’s face said, “who are you kidding?” before the Hub’s prince of OCD complied with his instincts and started to clean up the mess.  Frustrated, Jack stepped out of Ianto’s way but did not help as he was busy trying to regain control of himself.  His guilty mind did not return to the room until he heard Ianto yelp.

“Shit!” Ianto said while violently shaking his hand.  He had cut his finger on a shard of glass.  He looked at the bloodied digit to insure no glass was stuck there when Jack grabbed the hand, stuck the finger in his mouth and began urgently sucking on it.  Ianto, astonished, took it as an invitation.  “You know I’m typically not keen until I’ve had my initiating cupper,” he gently chastised.

Jack kept sucking longer than home remedies would have required and his eyes darkened.  “You do know that I love you, don’t you?”

“Now you’re scaring me.” 

Jack’s fear rose from deep, like pending vomit in a drunk man’s stomach.  He escaped it by channeling his energy into his usual coping strategy - tore off the pajama bottoms, lift Ianto atop of the counter and pinned Ianto there.  The varied, unpredictability of their sexual encounters always kept Ianto in a state of semi-anticipation and erection.  Jack’s present sudden potency was curious but, as usual, not unwanted, so Ianto quickly became willing to rest the back of his head against the upper kitchen cabinet, grasp Jack’s wrists with his hands, and drift into the rising sensations.  Jack, for his part, slipped his mouth around Ianto’s cock and deliberately massaged the head with his tongue.   It wasn’t until Jack allowed Ianto’s member to gradually slip deeper into his mouth, to that middle spot – Ianto’s sweet spot - that Ianto buckled and shivered.  Ianto then moved his hands to the top of Jack’s head, gradually but urgently encouraging Jack to move faster. 

It wasn’t until he came and his hand untangled from Jack’s hair did Ianto realize his previous injured finger was completely healed as if the cut had never happened.  Jack leaned up with a conquer’s grin, thinking he had successfully outwitted the truth again, only to hear Ianto say, “What the fuck?”

Jack, backed into a corner, stood up, as if trying to bravely face a firing squad, “The 456 killed you that day, that day we stood against them . . .”  His voice quivered and the volume drifted, as if still trying to escape.

“What do you mean?  I remember passing out then waking up in the hospital . . .”

“I called The Doctor, he said the only thing I could do to bring you back was to give you some of my blood . . .”

“I remember you and I confronting those spineless bastards then getting real dizzy, then I woke up in the hospital - you and Gwen were sitting there.  Rhys came in later trying to cheer me up with pizza . . .”

“. . . so, I bit into my arm and bled into your mouth . . .”

“. . . you said they’d poisoned me but my body fought it.”

“I don’t know how long the effects will last but . . .”

“. . . I remember the doctor’s said it was a miracle.  My sister was making a huge fuss . . .”

“. . . it will also make my return take longer, maybe it will even hurt more but . . .”

Ianto seemed to come back from his memory fog and asked, “Am I immortal now too?”

Jack thought at this point, maybe Ianto wasn’t going to be angry with him, “No, the results are temporary, likely to decrease each time you’re hurt.”

Ianto looked at his finger again.  “You’re your resurrection will be, _delayed_?” he said thoughtfully.

Jack hesitated but then admitted, “If bad enough, there is the possibility I won’t come back.”  He was surprised at his calmness in admitting that, “I would be left in some sort of suspension between this world and, well, nothingness.”

“You’d be dead?”

“Kind of, something like that, at least that is what The Doctor speculates,” Jack shrugged nonchalantly.

Ianto sunk into a contemplative quiet, his face blank.  Jack couldn’t stand it, so he tried to hug him but then Ianto’s anger came out and he pushed Jack away.  Ianto got off the counter, careful to avoid the remaining glass.  “You lied to me and likely reconned me instead of simply telling me the truth.”  It was his turn to tear off the remains of the pajamas.  “If you were going to continue keeping secrets from me, why get married, eh?”  Ianto felt the coldness in the room and became conscious of how naked he really was.  “The part you didn’t erase Jack Harkness was the argument we had had earlier; do you recall that?  When I confronted you about all the secrets you continued to keep – all those things most people think important for one to tell a partner, a husband, that you continue to keep locked up.”

“I told you that you knew everything,” Jack shouted.  “Okay, now you know everything.”

“That may be true,” Ianto hissed, “but what happens the next time you come across some inconvenient truth, eh?  Am I going to have to live a life where I can’t trust my own memories?”

Ianto stormed out the room, leaving icicles around Jack’s heart.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pop pop, bang, bang!!!

Chapter Six

 

The Hub conference room was crowded with people and puzzle pieces without their picture box.  Everyone had returned, chatting at one another and sharing their pieces but getting nowhere while they waited for Jack.  When he did come in, he looked like someone who hadn’t had a good night.  “I thought he didn’t need to sleep much?” whispered Rhys to Gwen.  She nodded while Martha mouthed the words “What’s wrong with him?” to Aliyah.  Aliyah smiled knowingly but shook her head.  “Let it go,” she mouthed.

But it was Mickey who let the cat out the bag, “Where’s Ianto?  I’d murder for a brew about now!”  When Jack gave him a severe look, Mickey sank in the chair and looked at Martha as if to say, “What did I do?”

“We’ll start . . .” Jack started to say as Ianto quickly entered the room, dragging in the outside cold with him.  “Thanks for joining us,” Jack snarled.  Ianto didn’t look at him but placed the carriers with its Starbucks’ coffee cups on the table.  Jack’s eyes followed him as he put each cup in front of the team members then Jack’s on the counter a distance from where Jack was standing.  Ianto had obviously purchased them from the shop a block away for they were quite hot but, for obvious reasons, they might as well have been iced tea from the corner convenience store.

Jack dismissed the slight and took on the demeanor of Nick Charles initiating the _denouement_.  “Let’s lay out what we got and see how the pieces fit.”  Ianto picked up a tablet connected to the room’s 3D presentation screen, then sat in a chair in the corner, away from the round table and began to take notes. 

Jack ignored that too.  “Mickey, Martha?  What do you have?”

Martha was busy giving Jack an _I know it is your fault_ look so Mickey started, “The contact in San Bernardino offered up some very curious evidence.”  He produced pictures of the creature, both before and after typical forensic gutting – all equally hideous.  Jack examined the photos briefly then casually passed them on to the others.  Mickey continued, “They found this in the apartment of those terrorists.  There were at least three but this one was the best preserved.  The rest were in pieces, likely shot up accidently during the raid.”

“The local constabulary recorded their presence?” asked Jack.

“Nothing in the reports,” answered Mickey.

“I checked with U.N.I.T. but they’ve not seen anything like it,” Martha interjected.  “I did some preliminary dissection but reckoned I’d take advantage of Ianto’s new “Owen Harper Memorial Forensics Laboratory” to run some DNA tests.  There is something familiar about this creature.”

Rhys winced at both sets of pictures, “Damn, a white worm with shark teeth!  Like something at the bottom of the ocean you see on one of those nature shows.”

“More like a parasite, I’d say, but I’ll know more after I’ve finished my tests.”

Jack said pensively, “Don’t be surprised if you find some modified DNA, likely cross-breeding.  Our Paris contact mentioned Internet chatter mentioning modified DNA but they hadn’t finished decryption yet.  Good work!”  Ianto entered a picture of the creature with “DNA modification?” as its title into the program.  It showed up on the holoscreen, like the other key points he would record, as its own jigsaw puzzle piece.  Jack was not going to tell Ianto how impressive this was.

“I may have some additional information that may help you,” Sarah interjected.  She handed the report she got from her source.  “It seems the latest target for hate groups, particularly in the U.S. and Europe are clinics that perform abortions.”

“That’s not new or news!” quipped Gwen.

“No, but the endgame isn’t to stop women from ‘exercising their right to choose’.  They’re only going after clinics that also provide fertility services.”  Sarah paused a moment to insure she had everyone’s attention before continuing, “They repurpose them, turning them into their organization’s own baby making factories, specializing in artificial insemination thus producing increased numbers of multiple births.”  She forwarded a set of numbers to Ianto from her tablet.  He posted these on the holoscreen.  “This is what the membership of each US and European hate group will reach in just two decades.”

The figures were staggering, and even shocked Jack. 

Rhys wasn’t convinced, “Okay, psycho-haters want big families, so what?”

“It could be dismissed easily if it was just one or two groups but as this map shows this activity includes every one and kind of them in Western civilization, from your run-of-mill Neo-Nazi through some anti-Wall Street hackers – from the large nationalist groups like the IRA through what remains of the Black Panthers in L.A.  Plus, although they have supporters in the professional classes, these groups are too loud to have Doctor or Professor So-n-So attending local Klan meetings.”

“People with similar feelings but deeper pockets and more refined tastes than their native brethren could be financing this but it is more likely they are doing something closer to the Hamptons rather than Belfast.”

“You’re right,” Jack said which got an arched eyebrow from Sarah, “but let’s check out whether their richer cousins are doing something similar to insure their place in the new world order.  Work with Ianto and check those numbers too.”  He waited for Aliyah to confirm the order with a slight nod then continued, “Alright Rhys and Gwen, your turn.”

“Guns with alien signatures,” answered Gwen as Rhys forwarded a ballistic report to Ianto.  “Some laser rifles and disintegration pistols but they don’t seem to have been used in combat yet.”

Mickey inquired, “Why do you say that?”

“Not the wear and tear you get with combat-used weapons.  They had been used, there’s no doubt about that, but infrequently though.”

“For target practice, perhaps?” Sarah surmised.

Gwen responded, “That would be consistent.  But that’s not the best part.  The police also found this map.”  She handed Ianto a rolled up piece of parchment.   He spread a modern world map out on the table – dots, some large, others very small, on or near every major city on every continent, along with Antarctica.

“What is it?” asked Martha.

Aliyah didn’t need her glasses.  As she looked across it, her eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.  “I haven’t seen this outlined in a modern Earth map.”  She swallowed and sat back in her chair.  Everyone was looking between her and Jack, figuring they would have the most information.  She paused, swallowed then finally let the words fall out of her mouth, “It is the map showing all the rifts throughout the world.  No one should have this.”

“Why?” asked Mickey.

Jack rolled up the map and, careful to avoid eye contact, quickly handed it to Ianto.  “Only Torchwood leadership has something like this, maybe The Doctor too.”  Jack stuck his hands in his pockets like a teenage boy admitting unfaithfulness to his girlfriend, “The Institute feels that information like this would give someone unfettered, simultaneous access to all the rifts’ energy and access points.  With that information, it was likely humans would either destroy the rifts or sell access to them as quick off-world vacation spots.”

“But we don’t want the rifts to open, so why not destroy them?” asked Rhys.

“Our job is to control what comes in through the rift.  The rift is a natural phenomenon, it is living and has much a right to exist as any of Earth’s other species.”  Jack handed Ianto a lighter and kicked metal trash can over to him.  “When Earth gets it shit together, the exchange of people and ideas will one day flow back and forth through these channels but until then, we keep stuff safe.”

“Keep us safe from blowfish and the like,” Rhys joked.

Ianto set the map on fire and, albeit somewhat reluctantly, watched it burn.  “Just as likely we are keeping the aliens safe from us,” he mumbled.

Rabbi Aliyah jumped in before Jack escalated – she always thought it in bad taste for couples to fight publically, “I have been busy also!”  She waited until she had everyone’s attention.  “There isn’t symbolism to the locales but seeing the map again, I am reminded that the location of the largest and most tragic terrorist assaults happened correspond with those larger rifts, typically those found near major cities.”  She paused again, like she was offering a Biblical interpretation.  “These rifts are unique as they have a density component.”

“This includes our Cardiff rift?” asked Gwen.

“No, the Cardiff rift is what is called a quick station, it is more like an express train that skips stops while the larger rifts just outside Tel Aviv, Mumbai, and Tokyo for instance, are technically referred to as expanses because they have space between their outer space starting point and the opening on Earth.”

“What’s in these expanses?” asked Rhys.

“Wasteland but most travelers do not linger there.  It is highly radioactive, dangerous for most organic-based creatures.  There is also the danger of physical distortions due to shifts in time or polarity.  Most who travel through the rift prefer the smaller, faster routes, or just make use of a vortex manipulator, teleportation, or space ship.”

Mickey shook his head, “It seems we still have more pieces than a full picture of the puzzle,” he said pointing the screen.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jack started to say as he moved the puzzle notes around on the holoscreen, trying to get a logical fit.  “We do know that there is some connection and . . . “Suddenly, Ianto’s phone buzzed loudly.  Jack shot him a harsh look.

Ianto removed his smartphone from is jacket breast pocket, ignoring Jack’s displeasure.  “Oh shit.”  He looked up at everyone, clicked the mobile’s screen several times which brought a “BBC Breaking News” and an announcer’s voice on the projected screen. 

“France is again under attack.  Just an hour ago, we received a report of a fiery explosion across the street from Paris’ famous Moulin Rouge . . ..”

“Oh G-d!” gasped Gwen. 

“. . . There are an unknown number of dead . . .,” continued the newscaster as scenes of burnt out cars, blood, and shattered shop windows filled across the broadcast screen.

“Are they sure this is a terrorist attack?  Could it be connected to the others?” Rhys asked off-handedly.

“. . . Our BBC reporter, Graham Satchell, has the details.”

The screen switched to a live shot of a black, concave hole where a building should have been.  Ianto and Jack leaned forward.  “Jack!” exclaimed Ianto.

“I know,” Jack whispered before he collapsed into a chair, anger and anguish running across his face.

“. . . the Paris police say this explosion, at a popular gay themed club, was made to look like the result of a gas leak but could possibly be another in a wave of terrorist attacks to again be suffered by the people of France . . ..”

“Isn’t that Torchwood Paris?” asked Martha.

“. . . Although this occurred in the daytime, it is suspected that at least 30 people were inside attending a weekly LGBT support group.  Firefighters and rescue personnel indicate that it is unlikely there are any survivors.”

Ianto turned off the broadcast, leaving the room covered in heavy silence as everyone contemplated the loss of yet another set of Institute colleagues.

Sarah raised a brave voice, “There must be a connection.  Jack and Ianto were just there!”

Silence again.

Mickey and Martha got up.  “What are we doing sitting around?  The best revenge is stop whatever’s happening here,” said Martha while Mickey nodded affirmatively.  “We’ll be in the lab checking that DNA.”

Jack said nothing, simply stared into a personal void.

Sarah chimed in as Martha and Mickey left the room, “I’m going to check on some contacts about the expansive rifts, see if I find out anything new.”

As if from another world, the baby monitor echoed sounds indicating that Anwen was awake from her nap.  Gwen, for a moment torn between checking if Jack was okay and going with Rhys back to their suite, stood up.  But, Rabbi Aliyah subtly waved her off and mouthed, “Go with Rhys.”  Gwen smiled in agreement and left the room. 

“I’m going to say mourner’s Kaddish prayer for the dead by the dock.  You should join me,” the rabbi suggested to Jack.

Ianto answered instead, “I think I will join you.  Jack?”

“No,” Jack said firm but quietly, “You two go pray to your useless, ½ pagan desert god.  I’m going on the roof.”

The rabbi ignored his cruel remark and said in a soothing tone, “Jack, don’t stomp on an olive branch.”

He turned and looked at her as if he was going to strike but her calm was a force in itself so he resorted to a childish tantrum.  He threw Ianto’s coffee cup against the wall.  Shards of ceramic nearly hit Ianto’s face, and liquid stained his pant legs.  Luckily, Aliyah got between them before things fell into blows.  She projected telepathic command to Jack, “Go, now!”  Once he’d stormed out of the room, she turned to Ianto, hoping to somehow salvage things.

Unfortunately, Ianto had already stormed out through another door.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making up is so nice!

Chapter Seven

 

An hour later, after she finished her prayers, Aliyah found Jack still on the roof, “Congratulations Harkness!  You’re the only person I know in the galaxy who can turn a perfectly good blow job into an argument.”

Jack wasn’t sure what bothered him most – her voyeuristic telepathy or the fact that she was right.  “Do you specialize in pissing me off?”

She gave a fake grimace, “Oh, how he wounds me!”  She wrapped her prayer shawl tightly around her to protect from the bellowing bitter winter wind.  “Jack, this is serious.  You broke the man’s coffee cup.”

“I bought him that cup!”

“All the worse,” she countered.  “The symbolism would set you up for a domestic violence charge.”

“Are you going to have me arrested?” he said with tacky sarcasm.

“Tistom tapeh yanaal (Shut up idiot)!” she said in Hebrew.

Jack was set back by her unusual harshness.  They stood in silence for a number of minutes, long enough for him start feeling guilty.  “What do you want me to do?”

Aliyah was shorter than Jack but she didn’t have to look up for her point to be any more potent.  “Start appreciating that this man loves you in ways no one in a century has and that your moments with him are limited.  Don’t wait to make apologies and stop coming up with reasons you have to offer them.”

He started to say “I’m sorry” but she was gone – only her telepathic voice remaining, “I’ll start the fix to this Harkness.  But not for you but because this group will die if doesn’t have a consistent supply of its normal, scrumptious liquid fuel.”

*******************************

The armory was another new feature of the redesigned Hub.  Inspired by the film, the _Kingsmen_ , at first glance this equipment room resembled a library in small private estate but in reality it was the war room from Patton’s wet dreams.   One side held weapons, alien and the highest quality, latest editions of human arsenical neatly ranked and posted in cases along with instructional guides and antique texts of military history.  On the other side, sets of virtual reality headsets programmed with shooting and martial arts simulations hanging from a wall adjacent to an 8' x 10'6” Japanese tatami.  It also had a life size interactive map system programmed with over a thousand different terrains, along with local and intergalactic maps of various civilizations.  In the center was an island with all the cleaning equipment and tools necessary to properly maintain every item in the room.  When Aliyah came in, Ianto was conducting maintenance on two Glock 20, 10mm automatics - Gwen’s gun of choice.  “If you’re here to argue on his behalf, you’re wasting your breath,” Ianto hissed.

Initially put-off by Ianto’s unusual hostility, she stopped before reaching him and reassessed her approach.  She decided to soliciting more information.  “You’re right, I did know about it.  The Doctor and I thought it best that Jack tell you – that it would be a good test.”

“Jack failed.”  Figuring that his trust in her was less than optimal, Aliyah adjusted her tactics further.  Instead of asking questions or even talking, she came to stand next to him at the island table and began to expertly break down then clean the other gun.  Ianto’s gaze did not waver for several minutes but Aliyah comfort with silence was well-practiced.  He eventually gave in, venting his frustration, “It’s about trust.  He has to trust that I can handle the truth.”

“And not break your coffee cup.”

“I frankly hated that cup.  I mean, ‘calm down and drink more coffee’?  It is so primitive.”

Still cleaning, she grinned, “And here I thought primitive was what you wanted?!”  He let out a small smile, which bothered her – she sometimes wished he loved Jack just a little less.  “Immortality gives one more time to maintain bad habits, especially those which work more often than they don’t.”  She eyed her work critically, deciding additional attention to one spot was required.  “Ianto Jones, you consistently fail to appreciate the unique perspective you bring to this relationship.”

“What do you mean, ‘unique perspective’?”

She looked up from her work and turned to face him.  “Why you love him, don’t you?”

“Yes, but what difference does that make if he doesn’t trust me?”

“Don’t be childish – somebody in this marriage has to be a grown up and Jack hardly reaches the 8th year when it comes to that.”  Aliyah put down the reassembled weapon and looked at Ianto directly.  “Amazingly enough, most of the people Jack has dealt with over the last century thrust themselves on him, treating him more like a celebrity than a real person.  Some of that is, of course, a fame of Jack’s own making but even clowns have to eventually leave the big top and take off their make-up.”  She picked up both cleaned, reassembled guns and put them on their spots on the wall then continued, “The only places he found people who were really interested in him, were those outside of Torchwood but then . . . “

“. . . he couldn’t share the largest part of his life,” Ianto completed – a point that Tosh regularly repeated.

“Lying became a way of managing relationships with civilians he really loved and he has yet to let loose of the habit.”

“I’m going to have to teach him how to trust?  And I’m not a civilian so don’t have the right to be pissed?  Am I his husband or his schoolmaster?”

“Ooh, he hasn’t done that roleplay yet?  I have heard he quite smart in that schoolboy uniform.”  Ianto offered her one of those too-much-information looks, but she continued.  “Nope, you should be mad – he was wrong.  The Doctor and I told him this.  But marriage isn’t some magic salve that cures the partner of all that ails him.”

“So I’m to do what?”

“What all successful married couples do – struggle.”

“Sure,” Ianto shrugged off her advice like a teenager agreeing to a curfew he knows he’s going to breach. 

Aliyah started to leave, not so much defeated but to prepare for the next battle when she remembered Ianto’s tendency to be concrete when he didn’t know what to do.  She almost forgot she had already picked this up for them and, she suspected, her timing couldn’t be better.  “Here,” she said tossing him a sandwich size zippie bag full of small, dark brown leaves.

“I don’t do drugs,” Ianto protested.

Aliyah raised an eyebrow in a bitch-please expression.  “It isn’t cannabis and second it isn’t for you although you definitely would benefit from some on occasion or two.”  She reached deeper in her smock pocket and pulled out a small scroll to hand to him.  “It’s Wissotzky Tea, from my home planet.”  Opening the bag Ianto released an unusual smell that reminded him of chamomile and lemon grass.  “Follow these instructions for brewing it and be sure to add a small slice of lemon.  It will help him sleep and reduce the sleepwalking.”

Initially he wondered how she knew about those – did he do this when he was at the Time Agency or was this another example of her telepathy?  “He doesn’t sleep much.”

“All organic creatures with fully developed brains, including us immortals, have to sleep because the brain only completely regenerates during REM sleep.”

“I do notice the difference when Jack hasn’t slept for days at a time or has too many nights of sleepwalking,” Ianto reflected.  Reading the instructions for making the perfect cup of tea was like pornography for his OCD – it gave him something only he could do well.   “How do I get more of this?”

“Well, you can go to my home planet, Jershun Prime or Tallios Four, a trading and pleasure planet one galaxy away.  Tallios Four, now that’s the place to have a proper honeymoon.  Once this mess is solved, you should insist Jack take you there.  Sarah and I go at least once a year.”  The young man’s slight smile pleased the rabbi, as she had finally gotten through to him, “And remember what my old mentor us to tell me – never go to bed angry.”

*********************************

_Break down, only alone I will cry out now_

_You’ll never see what’s hiding out_

_Hiding out deep down, yeah, yeah_

_I know, I’ve heard that to let your feelings show_

_Is the only way to make friendships grow_

_But I’m too afraid now, yeah, yeah_

 

_I put my armor on, show you how strong how I am_

_I put my armor on, I'll show you that I am_

 

_I'm unstoppable_

_I'm a Porsche with no brakes_

_I'm invincible_

_Yeah, I win every single game_

_I'm so powerful_

_I don't need batteries to play_

_I'm so confident, yeah, I'm unstoppable today_

_Unstoppable today, unstoppable today_

_Unstoppable today_

  * _“Unstoppable” by Sia_



 

Ianto found Jack in his office.  He initially hesitated, uncertain which Jack he would encounter, but took some deep breaths and entered the room carrying a Japanese tea tray setting.  Jack smelled Ianto and the tea and looked up from his desk.  Ianto set the tray down on the nearby coffee table, in front of the love seat and moved the items from the tray but, per the rabbi’s instruction guide, did not pour as he wasn’t certain Jack was ready.  “I got the ballistics and prints to Martha.  Found some strange sand-like particles as well and gave a sample of those to Mickey.  He said he’d look at them in the morning.  Sarah told me there has been a terrorist attack in Jerusalem – not Palestinians though, right-wing Jewish extremists wrote threating graffiti on the walls of a house of some liberal professor and on the sidewalk in front of a Tel Aviv liberal synagogue.  Sarah thinks there is likely a tie to the uptick in activity we’ve seen from other extremist groups.  I didn’t have a chance to check in with Gwen and Rhys.  I didn’t want to wake . . .”  His voice trailed off as he realized Jack still had his back to him.

“I like my tea with a half a lemon, not some sliver,” Jack finally said, reducing the tension in the room by several degrees.  Ianto turned his nervous attention toward executing the perfect tea service but Jack could hear a slight rattle and this pierced his formerly resolute cold distance.  Jack left his writing to sit on the loveseat.  He was glad Ianto was sitting at the nearby matching chair as it kept him from giving into his urge to hug him.  Instead, he took the tea cup from him and sat back in the couch to take a long sip, “Damn Aliyah anyway.  Is she going to tell you all my secrets?”

“Someone has to.”

“Wissotzky Tea?  They’re that bad now?”

“Two weeks ago, you broke the headboard and smashed the lamp.”

“Mmm, I wondered why we had new ones,” Jack said before taking another sip.  “I have to get back to Paris.  Institute HQ will want a report.”

“Alone?”  Ianto felt Jack was going to affirm his suspicion.  “I am a member of Torchwood.  I’m a good field agent, not perfect but good.  I didn’t marry to go back to being the Hub tea boy.”

Jack hated it when Ianto was right.  “I know,” he acquiesced.

Ianto wondered if he needed some tea too.  “I don’t look forward to dying or growing old but of the two I’d rather the latter.  However, we both know the life expectancy for a field officer is short.”  He shook his head, realizing how much this speech sounded like some housewife pleading to return to work after the birth of a second child.  “I know you want me safe but I’d rather die next to you, fighting for this planet, my home – for G-d and Queen – than just about anything else.  Torchwood is my life too, Jack.”

“You said G-d!” accused Jack, “Damnit, I just knew Aliyah would convince you to do something stupid like convert.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Why when avoiding is something I am good at?” Jack flashed him a charming grin before taking a final sip from his cup.  Ianto grabbed the cup from him and filled it as if he had been taking tea service sessions for years from the most talented of Geisha girls.  Jack knew he’d lost – that he would always loose, eventually, all the arguments in this marriage.   Accepting this conclusion warmed him more than the tea and would go a long way to a peaceful sleep tonight.  “WE have to go to Paris and investigate the explosion.  The timing, if nothing else, makes it suspicious.”

Ianto asked, trying not to visibly gloat, “Do you think it is connected to the other Paris bombings, maybe retaliation for capturing the other assailants?”

“No,” Jack said grimly, “it’s connected to our visit.”  He stuck out his cup for more and Ianto served it but Jack waved off another slice of lemon.  “So, we’re good now, eh?”

“Are you serious?” Ianto laughed.  “No, we just aren’t going to bed angry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to Paris

Chapter Eight

_These fragile bodies of touch and taste_

_This vibrant skin -- this hair like lace_

_Spirits open to the thrust of grace_

_Never a breath you can afford to waste_

_When you're lovers in a dangerous time_

_Lovers in a dangerous time_

  * _“Lovers in a Dangerous Time” by Bruce Cockburn_



A military style base sat in what could have been called the center of the expanse, between outer space and the rift entrance, like the ugly girl at the high school dance.  It was made up of a series of nondescript tents and shacks.  Stakes with yellowish glow bulbs on top surrounded the tent like tikki lights at the neighbor’s evening barbeque.  Otherwise, the surrounding area was darker than a black hole.  There were opaque squares in spots that pretended to be windows and gave hints of somethings moving back and forth, sometimes sitting.  

A trail of these somethings in the distance, noted by their bobbing torches, walked in a single-file line were approaching the encampment.  Sand storms swirled due to violent winds made it difficult to walk and the gravity was inconsistent, bone crushing in spots while in other areas one would bounce like a 60s lunar astronaut.  The creatures drudged along deliberately because getting to the camp meant living – dying in this alien desert would not give their death meaning and many were uncertain if dying there their souls could find heaven.

A human looked out of one of the tent windows and upon making out the figures informed his superior, “Another group is returning, sir.”

“Good,” declared the disfigured creature in the wheelchair.  “How many?”

The human took off his glasses, removing his eye balls along with the frames, rubbed them against his blood stained lab coat, put them back on his face and leaned forward to get a better look.  Certain, he finally answered, “15, maybe 20, sir.  More than before, that much is certain.”

“Ah!” said the irritated creature, “Still barely over 50% of what we sent to the Center.”

“You said so yourself, sir, these creatures are weak, even the angry ones.”  The human’s commentary was dismissed by the creature and the human sought to regain favor by saying, “Yet, you are correct, as always, master, as this is a low rate of return.”

The creature piloted his sophisticated Hover Round toward the large, illuminated chair in the center back of the room.  It motioned the human to assist.  The human removed the heavy blanket that should have covered the creature’s legs and lifted the creature into elaborately jeweled throne.  Certain the creature was properly arranged, the human removed the electro-mechanical leg set from underneath the throne’s platform and attached them appropriately to the creature.  The creature stood up and gave a hideous grin of satisfaction as he moved each leg as if they had always been there. 

The human asked, “Would you like them brought straight in, sir?”

“No,” said the creature as he walked around the throne, practicing his physical prowess, “Let them walk about the camp for a while.  We need to make sure the last of the weak ones die off.”

“Very good, sir.”

*******************************************

Ianto believed with the nearly five hours it would take to get to the new bomb site, the police forensics would have bumbled any evidence critical to their investigation.  He thought Jack was going for sentimental reasons and because the Institute had ordered him to show up – demonstrate that Torchwood was supporting the war against terror even though it wasn’t its war.  Ianto was also uncertain that they’d get close to it, even with the clearances originally organized by Gwen. 

He was wrong on every point but one – forensics apparently arrived, looked around, picked up a few charred objects, and confirmed the official word that it was a terrorist attack.  The only reason the police was still out there, flood lights illuminating an entire square block, was to allow the international reporters to get close ups of half burnt flyers and pieces of mangled body parts.  When Jack showed them the official paperwork, the investigators shrugged then went back to gossiping and drinking coffee in a café across the street.  Jack was furious at their blatant disregard for human life and Ianto had to stop him from hitting a _Gendarmes_ who threw out the casual comment, “Terroriste probablement nous a fait une faveur - nous débarrasser de ces Tapettes (Terrorist probably did us a favor – ridding us of these queers).”

“Let’s see what we can find,” Ianto said in an effort to redirect Jack. 

It worked, somewhat.  Jack said, “I’ll go around this side, see if anything is left from the office.  You go over the other side, see if you can find anything.”  Jack turned his back from him quickly, hiding churning emotions from yet another loss of friends and dear ones he failed to prevent.  He had to force himself to move forward, his head hung so low it was nearly hidden by his long coat.  Endless piles of black ash blurred his vision until an unusual object jarred him out of his fog – an unusually styled plunger.  He looked around quickly.  Once certain that the Parisian police were still distracted by their indifference, Jack picked up the object and stashed it inside his coat.

Ianto did what he was told, uncertain of what he was looking for.  After several minutes of scanning nondescript twisted items and shards of broken glass, he decided to scan the crowd standing across the street opposite the police.  These people were setting up a memorial – a mirage of candles, flowers, and notes to the departed.  Some of the people he recognized from the other night, only now with less glitter and much less cheery.  He sighed heavily, touched by their strength and willingness to insist on a public recognition of the loss in the face of overt homophobia.  He was about to turn around to check on Jack when someone in a thick denim hooded jacket and matching sweat pants caught his eye.  He walked over to be certain – it was Charlye!

She looked up and her eyes brightened a bit.  “Monsieur Jones!”  She carefully placed her tea light next to a picture of Ahmed.  “Ils sont tous partis , tous partis (They are all gone, all gone)!” she said when he got to her. 

She began sobbing and Ianto hugged her tightly. “Jack!” he called out.

Jack turned around and quickly ran over to the crowd.  He too was glad that someone had survived.  He pulled her from Ianto and hugged her like a drowning man clinches a life preserver.  “How did you survive?”

“I was late to the meeting.  I stopped to get the _cornichons_ (pickles) and _saucisson_ (cured sausage) – I was two blocks away when I heard the blast.”  She looked down at her picture of Ahmed, her tone transitioning from self-pity to rage, “La vaches dit qu'il est des terroristes mais nous savons tous mieux (The fucking police say it is terrorists but we all know better)!”  Several in the crowd nodded in agreement, assuming she met it was another in a recent set of assaults on LGBTQ community that had been ignored in the public’s fear of Islamic extremists.

Her loud tone worried Jack and he tugged both her and Ianto away from the others – he knew what she really meant.  “The police are partially correct but THIS was an attempt to silence Torchwood – those involved know we are on to them.”  He leaned in more and whispered, “Your life’s still in danger and they will try again.”  He stood up a bit and looked around and began trying to inconspicuously walk them away from the scene.  “There ARE alien forces at work here and I think I know who.  We need to get you out of here and to somewhere safe.”

“The Hub?” asked Ianto.

“Yep,” answered Jack as he hailed a cab.

“I need to stop at my apartment, get a few things,” pleaded Charlye.

“Make it quick!” said Jack as everyone piled into the vehicle.  “I’m not going to let another member of Torchwood die . . .” his voice drifted off as he realized this was a promise he could not guarantee.

Her apartment was only a few blocks from the bomb site.  They all got out the cab but then Jack had second thoughts and told the cabby to wait.   Jack’s mobile rang.  It was Gwen, “Jack!  Get back as soon as you can.  Martha and Mickey have found something.”

“We found a survivor from the bomb blast.  We’ll be on the next flight back, just going to let her get a few things.”  He hung up and in the back of his mind, wondered where his Bluetooth was as he tried to fit the mobile back in his inside coat pocket.  Jack began scanning the residential area – it was slightly busy with young people going to out for a Friday night of clubbing in defiance against the terrorists. 

Jack would have paid more attention to hairs standing up on the back of his neck if Ianto hadn’t distracted Jack by grabbing his hand.  Ianto caressed Jack’s knuckles the way lovers do when they are parting.  “I’ll help her hurry up,” Ianto smiled sweetly at Jack.

Jack looked at Ianto and smiled back affectionately, thinking that once this was all over, he’d take him on a proper honeymoon, somewhere romantic, make his toes curl and thighs quiver.  More importantly though, instead of hiding behind organisms, hypervodka, and charm, he would take time, tell Ianto everything, give in and unburden himself.  “He’ll understand.  He just needs to hear it from you and not let it creep up with every Torchwood adventure, every time your past comes back to threaten Cardiff or London or the world,” Aliyah once advised him.  Jack realized he was going have to figure out how to blend his past with Torchwood and a future that guaranteed life insurance policies typically paid out at 30.  Everything seemed to slow, like a predictable scene in an action movie – all Jack could do was relish Ianto’s firm, warm fingers holding his.  And if he hadn’t been so caught up in his dreamings, Jack would have noticed the black figure riding a bike determinately toward them and the growing alarm on Charlye’s face as the cyclist unleashed the bomb.  Ianto didn’t hear Jack say, “I love you” – the blast’s force severed their hearten tactility by sucking Ianto along with Charlye into the collapsing three story apartment building like a giant vacuum cleaner. 

Before dying, all Jack could think of is how empty and cold his hand felt.

 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to find Jack.

Chapter Nine

 

“You don’t understand!” pleaded Ianto.  “He isn’t dead.  He can’t die!”

The attending paramedic shook his head, irritated that he had to speak English. “He flat lined over 20 minutes ago,” he said while packing away his last bit of equipment.  Taking a second look at Ianto, the attending was also bothered that a man who a few minutes ago had a large gash in his head and other injuries was animated and talking like a massive explosion hadn’t just happened.  “We did what we could.  You’re welcome to follow the body in the coroner’s transport.”  The paramedic was going to walk away but stopped to stand close to Charlye and let his words drop down her exposed cleavage.  Pointing not so subtly back to Ianto then lightly caressing her bandaged arm, he said, “Il capte rien!  Maintenant jolie fille , si vous avez besoin d' aide supplémentaire , je serais heureux d'offrir personnelle , les soins de suivi (He’s stupid!  Now if you need some additional assistance lady, I would be happy to offer personal, follow up care).”

“Va te faire foutre! (Go fuck yourself),” Charlye responded in a low growl.

The paramedic walked away grumbling to himself but Ianto could have cared.  “We have to find Jack’s body.” 

Despite her fearlessness to the paramedic’s advances, Charlye was badly hurt and grateful she wasn’t dead.  “If you hadn’t fallen on me, I would have . . ..  You should be hurt too.  Are you immortal like Jack?”

Ianto noted his torn suit jacket and wondered how much or how many times he could cheat death.  “I can’t think about that now – I have to stay focused,” he thought to himself.  He had to protect her first – that what Jack would have wanted.  “Not exactly.”  He pulled out his mobile to call Chief Inspector Andy.  “I’ve going to get you somewhere safe then I’ve got to find Jack’s body,” he said while waiting for Andy to answer.  “He’s going to need me when he wakes up.” 

Andy told Ianto that he could arrange for one his French contacts to personally transport Charlye to Cardiff.   “The truth Ianto,” asked Andy, “how bad is the business?”

“It’s likely intergalactic.”

Ianto got the information from the other paramedic to locate the coroner’s office so when Andy’s contact picked up Charlye, Ianto headed straight to there in an Uber.  It was busy inside as the blast had taken out many people both in and surrounding the Charlye’s apartment building.  Waving his wedding ring and indicating that he and Jack were in _a pacte civil de solidarité_ (civil partnership) quickly got him to where the bodies were temporarily being stored and to the deceased personal items.  He was able to access the latter first, which was only Jack’s vortex manipulator and the long coat.  Initially, Ianto didn’t question why the latter was heavier than usual as he was anxious to get to Jack before he woke up and freaked out some poor assistant trying to do an unnecessary autopsy.  There were rows and rows of bodies in black bags with identification tags taped to them.  Shuttering inwardly, he hesitated, realizing this was the second time it could have been him in one of those bags – was it gratitude or relief he was feeling now?  He pushed past this existential moment and found “number 76 out of 103”.  Quickly, he bent down and unzipped the bag – it wasn’t Jack.   

Ianto was furious and stormed back to the clerk who originally gave him the number, showed him a picture of Jack from Ianto’s mobile – a pic from the wedding.  “But Monsieur Jones, that is the right number!  I packed the body myself,” pleaded the clerk.

“And that isn’t Jack Harkness in that bag,” Ianto screamed while dragging the man to the #76.  Ianto ripped open the bag and showed the frighten man.  “Are you blind?!”

The frighten little man began ripping open the bags of bodies surrounding that one, hoping that he had simply misplaced the numbers.  “I’m so sorry Monsieur!” he cried out.

A supervisor came up as she noticed the other family members becoming concerned their loved ones too might be mislabeled.  “It is okay everyone!  Please, stay calm.”  She charged toward Ianto, intending on taking control of the situation.  “Monsieur, you must lower your voice,” the supervisor chided Ianto.  “You are upsetting the others.  We will find your . . ..”

Ianto brushed her aside and stormed out.  He reckoned Jack had crawled away somehow and was never taken to the coroner’s.  He would go back to the explosion site and look for him.  Entering the revolving door to exit the building, he was caught by Jack’s smell – that scent that started this maddening relationship in the first place.  Once outside, he frantically turned the corner that looked down an auxiliary street away from sight, leaned against the wall then drew the coat close to his face and inhaled deeply.  Doing this only increased his panic.  _What if in giving me his blood he woke up but couldn’t remember who he was?  Jack could be in some hospital somewhere, lost, not knowing what is going on.  Or maybe he really is . . .._   Ianto gripped the coat tighter and the weight of it finally registered.  He pulled it from his face and began to examine the outside.  He checked the outside pockets and found a folded, slightly torn photograph of Tosh and Owen but that was it.  Ianto’s stuck his hand within an inside pocket and pulled out something metallic.  It was a Dalek arm.  “Ah fuck.”

Ianto put the object back in the coat pocket and pulled out his mobile.  He called Gwen.  “You two were supposed to be back here hours ago!”

“Jack’s missing.  I think he’s been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?  By terrorists?”

“No, worse.  Daleks.”

“Shit!” she was in the conference room with the others.  “I’m going to put you on viewer.”  Gwen switched systems so he was on screen with everyone.  “Can you hear and see us?”

“Yes,” Ianto replied.  “Gwen, I’ve gotta go find him before they, they do something terrible to him?”

“How did this happen?” asked Martha.  “We heard of another explosion – another 100+ people killed?”

“Yes, I know.  We were there.”

“What?” asked Rhys.  “Are you okay?  I mean there isn’t a scratch on you!”

“Yes, no, never mind that,” Ianto dismissed.  “Jack’s out here somewhere and I have to find him.”

Aliyah knew she needed to gain some control of the situation before Ianto completely unraveled.  “Ianto, tell us exactly what happened.  How do you know it’s Daleks?”

Ianto took a deep breath then explained what happened.  “Charlye was the only survivor of Torchwood Paris and Jack wanted to bring her back to the Hub, keep her safe.”  At that moment, Gwen’s mobile rang with Andy on the other line – Gwen left the room to coordinate a safe handoff.  “I found this Dalek part in Jack’s pocket.  He must have found it at the first explosion site.”

“Things are starting to make sense now,” concluded the rabbi.  “Ianto, you brought us the last piece of the puzzle.”  She typed something on her tablet then brought it as a split image on the holoscreen along with Ianto’s.  “I think I know where Jack is and if I’m right, both he and the world are in grave danger.”  The image was the puzzle pieces the staff had worked with earlier.  As she offered the solutions, she shifted the pieces, “The Daleks have been trying to take over Earth for centuries.”

“And The Doctor always stops them,” Martha interjected.

“Yes,” Aliyah responded, “And that’s why this time, they’re trying a different angle.”  She added their name to the puzzle.  “They are trying to take over again but this time, to keep The Doctor out of the picture, by having us kill each other.”  She let that sink in and then continued, “By supporting every hate group all over the world, they can get us to kill each other off fast and more efficiently than an invasion that risks their lives.”

“What?  That’s insane!” said Gwen who had returned to the room.  “How do you know this?”

Aliyah sighed, “Sarah’s information confirmed that every group considered as ‘benevolent’ to their own kind, from the Klan in the US and FARC in Colombia to ISIS in the Middle East and Aum Shinrikyo in Japan, has been either escalating their violent attacks or growing their master race all in effort to destabilize and overthrow national governments.”

“There are liberals in America and Europe who’ve been saying that shit for decades now,” Mickey replied.

“True, but I got a call from a Mossad friend of mine – told me of a raid at the headquarters of a liberal group in Israel, Meretz, where they found enough weaponry for a small army and plans for bombing of an upcoming session of the Knesset.   My contacts across numerous secret service groups have confirmed such similar findings across all types of activist groups, liberal AND conservative alike - the 99%ers, Green Peace, the anarchists, etc.,” Aliyah dropped her head in shame.

“Okay, so everyone’s wants to have a violent revolution,” Rhys interjected, “now what?”

Martha interrupted, “But the Daleks, or more likely Darvos, is doing more than just giving some alien weapons to both sides.  He’s also experimenting with human DNA, trying to grow superhumans.  It isn’t working.  They are able to get the multiple births with in vitro fertilization but where ever they were doing the fetal experiments must not have the necessary consistent gravity – that’s what causing the deformities.  NASA had the same results from their conception experiments on the International Space Station – nasty parasite looking creatures who often died within hours of ‘birth’.”

“This is not helping me find Jack!” said an inpatient Ianto.

“Jack is likely in the expanse where Davros his hiding his dirty business,” replied Aliyah.  “Ianto, do you have Jack’s vortex manipulator?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Because it is likely that whoever took him needed him to stay put.  So before taking his body, they tossed it aside,” Aliyah took in a long breath, then said, “If what Martha and I suspect is correct, Davros thinks by using Jack’s blood, he can override the gravity problem and create the master human monsters to kill off the regular ones – make the race war move along a bit faster.”

“So how do we save him?”

Sarah took over from Aliyah, “Martha, wait for Jack’s friend and tend to her wounds.  Aliyah and I have developed the necessary equipment to enter and function effectively in the expanse.  Mickey and I are going to use our wrist bands to teleport to your location.  The modified equipment will allow us to get into the rift expanse we found near the Torchwood Paris HQ site.  It is likely Jack is there.”

“I’m going too,” said Gwen.  “Rhys, be a dear and pick up Charlye from the airport for me?”

“Done,” Rhys replied.  “It will give me a chance to show the baby off to Andy.  He really has to get off his ass and go ahead with asking that waitress l to marry him.”  Before he left the room, he grabbed at Gwen’s arm and whispered, “Be positive, for Ianto’s sake.”  She nodded weakly.

*******************

Gwen, Sarah, and Mickey found an anxious Ianto Jones sitting in the open café where they agreed to meet.  They entered from an alley around the corner as Sarah felt that was better not to materialize in some public place.  Gwen sat next to Ianto, offering sympathetic massage on his shoulder that caused him to raise his eyes to hers – she had never seen him so worried, not even when they faced the 456.  “Jack’s been in tougher straights than this and come back to us,” realizing mid-sentence that her words were wholly inadequate.

“He had his full powers of immortality then,” Ianto spat.  “The idiot gave some of his blood to me and now who knows if he had enough to endure whatever cruelty Davros has designed.”  To Mickey, he asked, “Did anyone get a hold of that Doctor?”

“He’s not in this time line,” Mickey said reluctantly.  “It will take some time before our message gets to him and even if it does, I’m not sure we can count on him right now.  From Martha’s last contact, the loss of Clara has sent him on one of his emotional spirals.  He’s always difficult to reach when he loses a companion.”

Ianto growled, started to say something but Sarah interrupted.  She firmly grasped Ianto’s forearm and looked at him directly, “We don’t need him – we are going to do this ourselves.  It is our mission.”  Although Sarah had never cared for Jack, she had developed a fondness for Ianto.  She also appreciated the powerful attachment, a need coming from every cell in your body, to keep that person safe and near you at all times.  Sarah and Aliyah had had their fair share of scraps with both aliens and humans.  And Sarah knew that the price of Aliyah’s immortality was that the latter felt the pain and terror of death and dismemberment three times more keenly than any other creature in the galaxy.  If it was Aliyah in Davros’ clutches, Sarah would be as frantic as Ianto was now.  However, Sarah’s Mossad training had taught her how to channel these feelings, making her an effective warrior thus increasing the likelihood of success – she promised Aliyah, before parting for this mission, that when everyone got back she was going to teach Ianto how to do the same. 

“Serveur! Quatre tasses d'eau chaude et du citron , s'il vous plait. (Waiter!  Four cups of hot water and lemon, please.)”, Sarah shouted in French. 

“Do we have time for this?” questioned Gwen.

“There is always time for good preparation,” Sarah responded as she dug into her backpack.  She pulled out a paper bag with four prefilled tea ball infusers.  “This is Brahmi, Bacopa monnieri, a plant commonly used in Eastern Indian Ayurvedic medicine.”  The waiter brought the hot cups and Sarah put the infuser in each then squeezed the lemon in each one.  “Brahmi is traditionally used to improve brain functioning.  The IDF, the Israeli Defense Forces, have been experimenting and perfecting this blend for a decade now.”

Everyone took a sip of the unexpectedly sweet herb.  “Its effects come quickly,” said Mickey as he looked around him and noticing details in the environment he hadn’t previously.

“In its natural, purified form it acts as an adaptogen; which means it helps the body adapt to new or stressful situations,” Sarah continued.  She took a capsule from a small pouch in the same bag and bit into it.  She grabbed Ianto’s face and turned it to her, squeezing his mouth open.  She came toward him as if to kiss but instead blew into his mouth like someone offering pot smoke shotgun.  Ianto head fell back and as he slowly sat upright, a fierce continence fell from his head down his body, transforming him like a controlled Hulk emergence.  “The IDF’s results allow soldiers to go into places and complete complex tasks where others would run or fall apart,” Sarah explained.

Gwen’s natural empathic feelings were enhanced so she heard the thoughts of the girl sitting behind her.  Gwen turned around and said to young woman, “Darling, I know it is none of my business but you really should drop him if you feel THAT way about his brother!”  The woman, obviously understanding enough English to get the gist of Gwen’s comments, stormed away from the table, grabbing her partner’s arm and steering him away from the café.  Gwen, shocked at her behavior and having a bit of trouble blocking out the thoughts of the other patrons, became concerned at the looks of a Ianto Jones who now seemed as if he would and could burrow through the concrete with his bare hands if he knew Jack was underneath.  “What are the side effects of this stuff?”

“Your concentrations aren’t strong enough to cause much more than a headache or some fatigue,” Sarah said nonchalantly, repacking her bag.  “What I gave Ianto is a more concentrated form that went straight to his brain via his nasal passages.  When it wears off, he’ll likely sleep hard for at least 24 hours but I doubt he’ll have any lasting problems.”

Eyes darkened, Ianto fixed his gaze like an Olympic running envisioning the finish line.  Under his torn suit jacket, shirt and vest caked in mud and dust, his muscles were taunt and set.  His mind was no longer agitated but resolute – no longer worried whether or not they would rescue Jack in time.  “Tell me the plan.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Ianto saved the day

Chapter Ten

I call 9, 1, 1, when I'm in a fix

When I need you baby I call 6, 6, 6,

I'm in trouble

-              Trouble with Crickets by Alannah Myles

Ianto woke up lazily in his Egyptian sheets with his Aunt Eleri’s quilt covering his feet.  He opened one eye to glance at the nightstand clock – 5:23am, February 13th.  “Damn,” he thought, “I’ll have to get to the shops early to get those chocolates Jack . . .”  It suddenly dawned on him that he’d lost a day, maybe two and “where was . . . ..”  Ianto only had to shift slightly to realize Jack was behind him, sleeping quietly.  Just to make sure, Ianto moved his hand behind him and ran it along the sleeping person’s hip – Ianto would know that firm hip and thigh anywhere but Jack whispering, “Okay, okay but Ianto Jones, let me sleep just a while longer, eh?” and turned onto his other side affirmed that all was right with the world, at least for now.  Ianto took in and let out a cleansing breath and eased out of bed.  Whoever made sure he got to the bed was concerned about his or their modesty for he was wearing boxers.  He grabbed a fresh suit combination from the nearby closet before heading for a shower but turned around long enough to cover Jack’s back.  “Don’t forget to get that Ethiopian dark blend I like,” Jack murmured as he snuggled within the sheet.  Ianto halted a moment, taking it in another breath – normal, tender moments are tenuous when you work for Torchwood.

Ianto showered and left the Hub as quick and quietly as possible, with his diary firmly tucked under his arm.  He knew Anwen would have the Williams’ up soon and he wanted to get out without much sharing with Gwen and the others.  If he timed things right, he could get the morning shopping, along with Jack’s Valentine’s gift tended to as well as do this rather complex entry before lunch.  He could excuse his absence by bringing everyone back at the Hub bangers from Peg and Wigg. 

“Haven’t seen you much lately, Mr. Jones,” greeted his typical morning barista, Marg.

“Yep, been busy.”  Ianto knew the college student had a crush on him and if he hadn’t married Jack, he would have asked her out for she made a brilliant espresso.  “Can I get a three bags of the Ethiopian and one of the Columbian?”

“No problem,” she said, bending down just enough to pull the bags out of the nearby bin and expose the top of her breasts.  “Your office mates must drink an awful lot of coffee, I reckon, Mr. Jones,” she said with extra sugar.

“Yes,” he answered, smiling slightly but not trying to encourage her flirting.  “Could I get a large red eye too please?”

Marg winked, “Enough room for cream?”

“Not this time,” Ianto replied while handing her the money, “Keep the change.”  He dashed to a faraway table, opened his diary, and quickly hung his Bose headphones over his ears like some huge “do not disturb” sign.  His iPhone was in the mood for Chopin.   He scanned at his last entry from the day before the wedding: I know I want this but what the fuck am I doing?  What am I getting myself into?  “Well, now I know,” he said to himself before he started writing:

Deep down, you and I both know I’m typically a physical coward.  I used to be pleased to wait for the team to come back instead of coming close to the danger.  I’m more of a researcher, a librarian not a field agent.  But when Jack first left us, then after Tosh and Owen died; after trips in submarines, to other Torchwood offices in India, Tel Aviv and the like, and after the original Hub was destroyed, I’ve grown a bit of a backbone.  I had too – I just couldn’t let Gwen and Jack down.  Grin and bare it, Jones, I said to myself and that I did.  But this time was different.  Sarah was astute in bringing that herbal stuff – panic and trepidation are an ugly mix in this business. I was genuinely frightened.  I was afraid not only of what we were walking into but whether any of us, Jack included, would get out of it alive.  I am not so much writing this to serve as some direct record of what happened as much as a testimony to remind myself that I made it.

After two doses of Sarah’s herbal mix, I was calmer, more focused but full of a kind of rage I didn’t know I had.  First, I was mad she drugged me (I forgive her now though).  Second, I wanted to kill who or whatever stole my man.  Third, and this is the most embarrassing bit, I was amazingly aroused by the idea of killing things, anythings.  No wonder the IDF is so effective – I’m sure they give the recruits birth control shots and thick condoms along with this stuff!  When Jack and I got back to the Hub, I reckon there was still some of it in my system because Charlye, Jack and I had sex for hours – I’m sore everywhere still.  But, I get ahead of myself.

Sarah got us to her Paris military contacts, who were nearby the original blast spot, to help change into these industrial-style hazmat suits.  Because the Paris police were still investigating, looking for dead bodies parts I presume, we didn’t look out of place unless you followed us to the spot where we disappeared in thin air.   Although I know she applied the tech we use to hide the external Hub elevator, I still have to ask her about how she got us into the expanse – she explained it before we left the café but that was when I initially acquiesced to the testosterone rush.

I was looking forward to destroying whatever it was that bothering my planet and interrupting my honeymoon.  Sarah had said at the café that is was likely Davros was trying to take over the humans by controlling our own inclinations to kill one another.  I didn’t give a fuck.  Daleks can die – I’ve seen The Doctor organize their destruction.   Sarah also said something about getting evidence to prove what Daleks were doing, we had to do that before killing them.  I really didn’t give a fuck about that either.  I guess that makes me a bad Torchwood operative.

She was straight on about the expanse – being in there was nothing like an off-world adventure, even though it had special definitive spatial markings, you felt more like Clooney and Bullock in ‘Gravity’ than DS9’s Worf and Dax on some away mission.  And the suits we had to wear were bulky and cumbersome one minute, then airy and light the next – you couldn’t predict the gravitational pull but adjust as you moved.   Sarah was right about another thing too - spray painting the hoses on the skin-tight oxygen masks different colors - without that, you couldn’t tell one person from another.

We bounced and ground through the expanse in a straight line, keeping connected through what seemed like a sandstorm by a rope attached to our waists.  I write ‘seemed like’ because although there was the sound of wind blowing and the air was misty like a Cardiff bay fog, the sand didn’t so much swirl as it moved like it had a purpose.  Everyone but Sarah was to keep a keen eye out for Daleks or terrorists in training along the way – I was at the end of the line, so I had to occasionally look behind as well.  This was useless though because you could barely see more than 2’ in front of your face – she probably told us to do this just to give us something to do while we followed her.  Although we were pretty well tied up in our suits, bits got through and felt like tiny spiders having a medieval gouging feast on my skin.   Sarah had warned of this too but it was extraneous information that just didn’t seem important at the time.  I had to find Jack, get him out of wherever he was in that shit hole, and bring him home.

I really don’t know how long it took to get to the rows of interconnected shacks and military-style camps nor how Sarah knew how to get there except it had something to do with tracking a SOS signal from Jack’s vortex manipulator.   We lined up against the wall of the first structure we came across, just as Sarah instructed in the café – Mickey and I on one side of the door with Gwen and her on the other – Sarah kicked the wooden door open.

Inside was storage room with lots of weapons, some alien energy shooters and some that looked like top of the line Smith and Wesson or Remington.  Other boxes had what looked like bomb parts while others were definitely chemical weapon delivery systems.   Other boxes had a skull and cross bones insignia and wording that looked Russian.  No Jack, so I started toward the hall to the next room.  Gwen slowed me down, signally that I could take the mask off.  ‘Ianto, we’ll get to him in time,’ she said, reading my mind.

‘No we won’t.  Can’t you hear his cries off in the distance?’  She looked at me startled that I could discern his cries from that of the rest of prisoners, likely several meters away.

Sarah moved us on – past training rooms, sleeping areas, and a mess hall.   We had to shoot our way through a group of recruits in one hallway who somehow knew we weren’t terrorists in training like them.  Firing my Heckler & Koch G36 rifle on full automatic was like Moses’ parting the Red Sea.  It was an exhilarating, terrifying rush that was better than sex and that says a lot when you’re fucking Jack Harkness.  Gwen, with all of her empathy, she looked uneasy killing, often seeming to aim to cause a clean, quick death then stopping ever so often to give a glance or two at her victims as she moved on, like a chaplain on an active battlefield (I recall her telling me on the plane, returning back to Cardiff when it was all over, that in some of them, she could hear cries for their mothers while the last thoughts of others were worries that their god would not welcome them).  But, I liked it when I hit them in the head – the flying skull fragments were better than anything in a video game.  I don’t know if it was purely the drug or if the drug was opening me to something dormant inside me.  It is likely the latter, if I’m honest though – hadn’t Adam exposed the psychopath in me  with his bloody hypnotic touch.  At least then I felt guilty about what I imagined I’d done.  But in the expanse, each gun fight got more and more thrilling until I started wondering if I had reached a body count large enough to get extra bonus points.  I should talk to my psychologist about this.

After the third battle, Sarah had us quickly exchange clothes with the dead men.  They were dressed like Star Wars Stormtroppers, so I didn’t realize each was of a different race until I took their helmets off.  Sarah said something like it was likely none of them knew they were training next to someone who they’d likely blow up next week.  ‘More efficient,’ she said.  I didn’t care.  They looked the same dead anyway but now I wonder if you get to heaven from the expanse.  Jack says there is no afterlife but still, us mortals have to wonder if that’s true.  Maybe he doesn’t stay long enough for the angels to get to him or maybe, like EMTs constantly rushing to false alarms, they started ignoring his calls.

We kept roaming from area to area but no sign of Jack and no Daleks.  There were what could be considered leaders – they wore the black uniforms, like a cliché from a 70s sci-fi show.  My frustration was boiling and shots to the heads of the Stormtroopers was losing its thrill.  Then, I heard moaning again,  but this time I smelled Jack’s scent as well so I headed in the opposite direction of the group.  I found Jack, or what was left of him, in a nearly empty, a poorly lit warehouse, hanging like a piece of pre-butchered cattle, his hands tied to a meat hook above a large bucket.  I posted my rifle atop my shoulder and walked determinately to him.  As I got closer the group, realizing I guess that I wasn’t with them, entered the room.  I heard Mickey, I think, calling me back in a loud whisper.  He was saying something about a group of Daleks hidden in the shadows barrels on the other side of the space.

It wouldn’t of mattered because by the time I got close to Jack, my determination shifted panic.  His clothes were torn and heavily blood stained.  It took me a moment to accept the fact that the majority of the blood was spilling from his jugular vein due to a deep cut around his neck which caused his head to tilt ghastly to one side.  The bucket below him was more than half full and there were at least four completely filled and capped water cooler side containers of blood off to the side.  Jack’s face was grayish white, contorted and his eyes were rolled back.  It wasn’t that I thought he was dead – he often got that look before awaking from severe attacks.  He was in agony but could not scream.

Davros rolled out from the shadows with his automaton entourage as I frantically searched for a way to free Jack.  I didn’t even hesitate, I just kept looking for something to stand on, some way to get Jack down.  “Please, Mr. Jones, don’t let me interrupt you.”

“I don’t believe you could stop me.”  I didn’t even bother looking at him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I believe he said.  “We have everything we need from him.   Mr. Harkness has outlived, if I can use that term, his usefulness after all.”

Mickey found two chairs (I wonder what Daleks need chairs for?).  I tried, like Jackie Kennedy in the Zapruda film, to hold Jack head down on his neck, thinking that doing so would make the rejuventive effects of his immortality happen more quickly and in the right spot first.   When we finally got him down on the ground, Mickey gave me a hopeless look. 

At this point, I had finally began recognizing how dreadful our situation was – Mickey and I on the dirty sand floor like a rescue operation off some television doctor show while Sarah and Gwen stood over us, guns drawn looking like half of Charlies’ Angels -  out manned and out gunned by the evil-mastermind and his henchmen.  Of course, it was Gwen who had to fall back on the cliché superhero dialogue, “What have you done to him?!”

“I would think that was obvious my dear,” responded Davros.  “You see, and as I’m sure Mr. Jones already knows by now, Captain Harkness’ blood has some unique qualities.  Those qualities will be of much use to my Dalek children of the future.”

“But you have your army, Davros,” Sarah sneered.  “You’re controlling every terrorist organization . . . ..”

“That money and technology could buy, yes I know,” beamed Davros.  His henchmen surrounded us but weren’t as menacingly as one would anticipate, they left us with an escape move from behind.  “Ah, but unfortunately it was an experiment gone wrong – quite unsuccessful actually.  Science is often so much trial and error, wouldn’t you say?”  He looked directly at Sarah because . . . she was the alpha (sorry Gwen) and she lowered her weapon.  Once she did, Davros waved his impish deformed hand directing Daleks to move back.  “As I said, I have everything I need.  Even Harkness is no longer of any use to us.”

By that time, Mickey and I got Jack off the floor and onto a nearby table where Mickey was channeling Martha.  I was useless for my Torchwood medic training was no more extensive than applying peroxide and an adhesive bandage even after working all that time with Owen.  Mickey was doing his best but the neck was nearly completely severed and Jack wasn’t healing.

Davros tossed salt to my wound by saying, “Although, I’m not sure he’s going to do you any good either, Mr. Jones.  Pity, didn’t you two just get married?”

You know this hasn’t happened in quite a while, the white outs, I mean – those times when I become so enraged that I blank out not remembering what I did to whom.  Sarah told me what happened on the plane and that is all I can tell you now.  Evidently, Davros’ last line sent me leaping after him.  I do remember the excitement of having my hands around his neck, the skin was surprisingly gelatinous and whatever counted for blood shifted below and above where my fingers were squeezing.   I also remember enjoying the sense of control, knowing that I was killing him.  I remember the shots of the energy weapons from Davros’ children feeling like searing burns against my skin and the cold, gritty floor against the back of my head.

Gwen said the next part was “remarkable”.  I guess I got back up a few seconds later (which Mickey said gave Davros a shock) went back to Jack, a nasty gash in my lip, and kissed him.  Then, although still unconscious, he began healing rapidly.  Gwen said that I then threw Jack over my left shoulder and walked toward the exit saying something like, “I’ve got better things to do.”  I do remember getting a few rooms back toward the main entrance and having to put Jack down while I took out another slew of terrorist wannabies.  I also remember noticing the wound on Jack’s neck healing nicely before putting the masks on both of us, slinging him back over my shoulder and heading out again.  Sadly, after that, I am at a lost, things are still quite a fog.  I am sure that the others will fill me in later.

“I’m going on my first break, Anna,” Marg said over her shoulder as she started toward Ianto’s table.  The older barista, who had witnessed the exchange while sweeping nearby, pulled Marge aside in hopes of preventing potential humiliation, “If you’ve got intentions toward that one, I suggest you shop elsewhere girlie!”

“What’d you mean?  He’s right cute and I’m single.”

“Both are true but you’re missing two key components,” laughed Anna.

“What?” pouted Marge.

“If he’s not in here alone, he’s always here with some equally cute bloke and staring right lovingly at him as well.”

“You mean, he’s . . ..”

“Yep, and for keeps too from what I can see,” said Anna, nodding at the ring on Ianto’s wedding finger.

“Damn!” replied Marge.  “Why are all the good ones gay or married, or, hell, both!”

*******************************************

Ianto got back to the Hub at 12:15, dropped everything on the kitchen counter and rushed to get the bangers passed out to everyone in the conference room.

“Thank G-d, Ianto!” said Aliyah, “You got me the veggie one right?”  He gave he a hurt look.

People began to eat eagerly in silence until Jack declared, “Time for a debrief!”

“I would like to toast Ianto Jones, myself!” said Gwen.

“Here, here!” chimed in Rhys while raising a giggling Anwen’s hands.

“I mean nearly strangling Davros with your bare hands and carrying the boss single-handedly across the expanse?” exclaimed Rhys.  “You did The Doctor proud, bro!”

“If half of what Mickey and the others said really happened, well, you owe this guy a lot, Captain Harkness,” added Martha.

“And I plan to repay him in spades!” responded Jack, as he pinched Ianto’s ass.

To redirect the discussion, a blushing Ianto asked, “What happened to the expanse, to Davros?  What about the terrorists?”

Sarah explained, “I closed the expanse with a few well-placed explosives at the entrance which triggered those within the warehouses.  I don’t think that expanse will be usable again and that set of terrorists will not be available to their respective organizations.  I am not so certain about Davros however.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is likely the explosion ended any further human experiments, however the bombs I planted were on a timer.  We shot out of there behind you and thus don’t know if or how Davros made it out.  And if he had access to Jack’s blood, he likely was already ingesting it and could have survived the explosion.”

“And he can always use it to make more Daleks,” Martha chimed in.

“True,” said Aliyah, “but Ianto’s experience taught us something about Jack’s blood.”  She finished chewing and wiped her mouth.  “Its effects don’t last forever – you took several good shots to the chest, Ianto.  It was your determination, adrenaline, and, needless to say, love for Jack that got you out of there – when Martha checked you when you got back, there was little if any of Jack’s DNA left in you.”

Ianto was again embarrassed.  “I think I will leave the immortality to the experts in the future,” he nodded at Jack, collected the discarded wrappers and headed to the kitchen.

Jack grinned, watching Ianto hurry off.  He was deeply grateful to Ianto and had plans of his own for a Valentine’s celebration tomorrow.

“What about the terrorist recruits?  Isn’t anybody going to warn the authorities?” asked Rhys.

“We shot most of them and those who didn’t die then were disintegrated when the expanse collapsed,” Sarah said.  “The experiments with DNA enhancement went with them.”

Aliyah sighed heavily then added, “Unfortunately, I went through my U.N. and international contacts. None of them seemed interested in the information we discovered – how alien forces were controlling their respective revolutions.”

“Are you surprised?  Humans like killing each other too much, just like I said in the beginning!” said Jack.

“You may be right, Jack,” said Gwen sadly.  “But we don’t need any help.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader discretion is advised - It's getting hot up in here!

Chapter Eleven

_Hail (hail)_

_What's the matter with your hair? Yeah_

_Hail (hail)_

_What's the matter with your mind and your sign? And a, oh, oh, oh-a_

_Hail (hail)_

_Nothing the matter with your head baby, find it, come on and find it_

_Hail_

_With it, baby, 'cause you're fine, and you're mine, and you look so divine_

_Come and get your love_

  * Come and Get Your Love by Redbone.



 

Ianto found that, in his rush the previous day, he still had to go out again on Valentine’s Day for a few things.  He came into the Hub using the invisible elevator carrying multiple shirt bags to stock the rooms with goodies requested by the other couples to make for a nice, private event for each in their respective suites.  Usually, Jack was readily available to help him with the bags when Ianto got back from shopping but this time Ianto couldn’t see him anywhere.  “Jack!  Jack!  Come help me with these bags.  Jack!”  Ianto was beginning to believe Jack had left or was on the roof – he liked roofs after all.

Ianto hauled half the over-stuffed bags into the kitchen.  “Jack!” he hollered, now somewhat irritated.  He started to press his earbud to get Jack on the com when he nearly fell over a giant heart-shaped cake.  “What the hell?”

“Hello mon cheri!” Charlye said as she popped out, arms welcoming and deliciously naked.  “N'êtes-vous pas heureux de me voir? (Aren’t you glad to see me?)”.

Ianto dropped the broccoli on the floor – he had forgotten just how fit she was – milk chocolate skin, green eyes, firm thigh muscles, and as Bob Seger famously said, “and points all her own sitting way up high”.  Ianto didn’t see her when he returned from Paris and was under the impression that Aliyah had found her a station with another Torchwood locale.  But he was glad to see her – he hadn’t had the opportunity to thank her for all her help, although at that moment, a collegial appreciation was not what Ianto had in mind. 

Charlye’s dark auburn hair was longer than he remembered but then again the last time he saw her he was either protecting her from bomb blasts or had his face between her legs (or was he on his stomach?).  She seemed well-healed, emotionally and physically from their ordeal.  He was both excited and discomfited to see her again.  “What are you doing here?” he stuttered in broken French.

Jack was leaning against the entryway of the kitchen, watching it all like a 12-year-old spying with binoculars on the next door neighbors.  “Happy Valentine’s Day!”  He walked over to Ianto and slapped his ass, making Ianto blush even more.  “I figured you’d like to enjoy Charlye while sober this time.”

“I’d thought we’d have a nice, quiet evening dinner in, watch a little tellie . . . .”  Ianto wasn’t sure how smart this was as they had never discussed “expanding their relationship”.

Jack helped Charlye out of the cake.  “Ooo!” She exclaimed.  “That’s a fabulous idea.  We can set up the TV and the camera so we can tape and watch ourselves at the same time.  Yum!”  Charlye growled low and lusciously rubbed against Jack. 

Ianto grabbed one of his aprons and attempted to wrap it around her but doing so only seemed to accentuate her assets.  “With some our guests still here, I don’t think it fair we do this in the kitchen.  Never know who will need a quick sandwich, eh?” Ianto said nervously. 

Jack grabbed Charlye by the back of her hair, pulling her backwards towards him.  Jack’s lick just behind her right ear elicited a guttural groan and shiver from her.  “We won’t need your dick this time.  I have something special planned,” he whispered to her.  She poked out her lower lip as he set her upright.  She giggled when Jack planted a solid slap against her right butt cheek.  “Ianto’s right.  Use the door over there.  Go up and warm the bed for us.”  When she was gone, he turned his attention back to Ianto, “Well, ready?”

“Why can’t you just buy flowers, or set reservations, or, how about say you’re sorry like most blokes?” Ianto asked, while picking up fallen grocery’s.

“I’m an asshole, you deserve better, and we both love sex, often, hard and sweaty.” 

“Well you do have three good points there.”  The room grew silent but eventually Ianto ran out of groceries to put away.  Jack wondered if he had blown it.  “So, it’s going to always be this way, eh?  You’re do something stupid, I’ll get pissed off, and then you’ll charm me with that smile, eager blue eyes, and the promise of mind-blowing sex?”

“Every time, I promise, sir.” Jack saluted.

“No Ecstasy though,” Ianto said walking past heading to the back door, pausing only briefly to squeeze Jack’s bulge, “that shit gives me a headache!”

The three of them didn’t start fucking right away but they remained in various states of undress throughout the night.  Ianto used a bottle of Glenlivet to ply Charlye for stories of Jack during his time at Torchwood Paris.  While 70s disco played in the background, Ianto was treated with “the time that team planted a horny blowfish in Jack’s bed”, “the time they had to recon the entire French Parliament”, and “time The Doctor tried to dance the can-can at Moulin Rouge”.   The alcohol eventually led to stories of team members lost, including Ahmed – it didn’t seem to bother Jack that Ahmed and Charlye had “an understanding” – Ianto noted that Jack seemed unselfishly pleased.  Charlye started to sob and her tears deeply touched Ianto.  And he did what he knew to do for an upset person – he put on a pair of pants and went to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. 

Aliyah looked up from the Mishnah, a book of ancient Biblical commentaries, while waiting for a vegetarian burrito to heat up in the microwave, as Ianto rushed into the room.  She did not seem surprised at his state of dress or of his appearance.  Blushing, he avoided her eyes, “Charlye needs some tea.”  To justify his presence, he added, “You do have a microwave in your suite.”

“Well,” she responded while carefully turning the page, “You did mention something about eating a sandwich at 2am.”  Aliyah gaze started with Ianto’s bare feet then went to his unzipped pants and ended with his embarrassed eyes, “Ah, I’m sure she needs calming alright.”  His face displayed irritation, as he realized her telepathic powers had told her everything that she could’ve guessed.  She walked over to one of the cabinets, reached far back inside, and pulled out a tightly closed tin labeled in Owen’s handwriting, “the boost”.  She handed Ianto the canister and began the formulation, “Cannabis, properly constructed with milk and lemon, makes an excellent tea for sadness.” 

Ianto returned to a bedroom with the tea tray.  Jack and Charlye were holding each other in a comforting stance.  Ianto placed the tray on the side table and sat next to them on the bed.  He nodded at Jack, who released her allowing Ianto to offer her a cup.  “This is soothing, I’m told.”  She took a sip of the warm, tangy liquid then nodded appreciatively.  She drank from the cup some more – her brand glistened wildly.  Ianto got up the nerve to ask her about the lantern and written script markings on her back.  Charlye told him that she was originally from the planet Nari and that at puberty all women were given a tattoo or brand between their shoulder blades that signified their identity – hers meant “light of hope”.  When she became in anyway emotional, the brand lite in different colors like fireworks.  Focused as he was on Charlye, Ianto didn’t notice that Jack moved off the bed and put himself in a shadowy corner of the room.  Ianto moved closer and dabbled Charlye face with a tissue - those green eyes captured him and the next thing he knew he was kissing her cheeks, nose, and, ever so tentatively, her lips – for less than a second they reminded him of Lisa’s.

Ianto abruptly backed off.  Charlye was none the wiser and was clearly adjusting to a different emotion as her brand was now a bright red.  And, luckily, Jack assumed Ianto’s blushing was a combination of embarrassment and uncertainness and he was amused.  Jack sought to reassure him, “Ianto Jones, lay down.  On your back, feet on the floor, butt close to the edge of the bed.” 

Charlye put her tea cup on the tray, straddled Ianto and pushed him onto his back then giggled at his surprised look.  She wiggled her pussy against his cock.  “You like?”

Ianto couldn’t think of anything he’d like more.  He remembered the feeling of his dick gliding through velvety, thick hot chocolate.  She was so sweet and smooth that his cock was inside her immediately.  She moved her hips slowly over him, each stroke was deliberate and drawn out like the last notes in an elegant symphony.  He yanked her down atop of him, for he desperately needed to feel her skin against his chest.  He hadn’t been with a woman in quite some time – and it wasn’t like this with Lisa.  He realized he liked moving slow and deliberately with women and differently than with Jack - so many different points inside of women to caress, each eliciting a new shiver or small sound.   Ianto started to wander down the path of sexual uncertainty – “Sex with women is brilliant but I love this man?”  He knew where this internal interrogation led and there were too very beautiful people whose bodies were enjoying his – live in the here and now.  Ianto grabbed her head with his left hand, pulling it so he could bury his face in her hair – it smelled like lilac and heather just picked from the field.  He then gripped her ass with his right hand so he could grind his cock even deeper inside her.

Jack, at first, sat off at a visually advantageous distance, lightly stroking his own penis and waiting.  He let his head fall aback to let his scotch fueled buzz coalesce with the sound of Pink Floyd’s “Pigs (Three Different Kinds)”.  His strokes soon matched the song’s hollowing beat, a perfect sexual rhythm.

The song’s instrumental break offered the perfect moment for Jack to join in.  He moved behind, stopping for a moment to admire Charlye’s tattoo, now a mosaic mandala now spinning purple, blue, and gold sparkles.   Jack knew she was not done but Ianto was nearly ready – the timing had to be perfect if things were going to work and that meant he needed to increase the intensity.  He reached down, where Ianto’s legs were dangling over the bed’s edge.  Jack lifted those legs to put his feet atop of Jack’s shoulders.  This pushed Ianto’s dick deeper into Charlye’s, causing her brand to pulse crimson and her body to shiver powerfully.  Jack’s greased cock entered Ianto ass wittingly, startling the young man with new sensations.  Ianto howled and shook, fucking Charlye faster as he came viciously. 

Charlye was not done and started bucking fast against Ianto when Jack withdrew from Ianto and pulled her off.  Jack laid down next to Ianto and pulled Charlye atop him.  She let out a loud groan, fitting the famously endowed Jack Harkness.  Ianto kissed Jack deeply.  It didn’t take her long to cum, her brand lighting off her body like a mini New Year’s firework show.  Jack allowed himself to release a few moments later.

Ianto woke early the next morning to find that Charlye was gone and Jack, sitting up on his elbow smiling at him playing with his hair.  “Where did Charlye go?” Ianto asked.

“To stay with her people for a while,” Jack answered.

“Mmm,” Ianto responded with the slightest tone of disappointment.  “What time is it?”

“10:30.”

“Shit!” Ianto said as he started to untangle himself from the sheets, “I’ve got to get breakfast on.  The others must be starving.”

Jack held Ianto back.  “Don’t worry about it,” Jack said.  “The good rabbi and Sarah went to services, Rhys and Gwen left to visit her family.  Martha and Mickey have one of your ‘Do Not Disturb’ tags on their doorknob – I think watching Rhys and Gwen with Anwen has convinced Martha she and Mickey can handle a baby while still hunting aliens.”

Ianto laid back down but after considering Jack’s last comment, turn his head away a bit before asking, “Have you thought of it?  Having more children that is?”

“I’m not ready to share you yet,” Jack said before kissing Ianto on the forehead and bouncing out of the bed.  “Give it a year or maybe sooner, then we’ll see, okay?”

Ianto agreed but thought it strange that Jack was being so sensible.

 


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a really happy ending, eh?

Prologue

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time_

_Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you_

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time_

_And hung me on a line_

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you_

  * _“Maybe I’m Amazed” by Sir Paul McCartney_



 

**A year later or maybe sooner . . . .**

Life had been quiet around the rift lately which allowed the new members of Torchwood Cardiff to get to know one another and make the Hub their home.   Anwen was walking and keeping her from setting off one alarm or another was difficult but fun job for everyone.  Rhys and Gwen had considered moving to a proper family home but eventually decided it didn’t make much sense – this way they saw one another more often.  Martha was pregnant with twins and due in a few months which allowed Mickey to dote over her and organize the forensics lab, per Martha’s instructions of course.   Reassignment to Torchwood from U.N.I.T. was simple and it allowed Martha to see her mum and dad more often.  Rabbi Aliyah took an extended leave of absence from Torchwood Tel Aviv, leaving operations there to a trusted assistant.  She thought it best to keep an eye on Jack and Ianto to insure things this first year ran a smoothly as Jack’s ego would allow.  Additionally, with increased anti-Semitic acts in France, those Jews who did not immigrate to Israel or the States came to England and thus additional clergy were suddenly needed in the area.  When she was not committed to Torchwood business, Aliyah was tutoring bar/bat mitzvah students or filling in for vacationing rabbis.  Sarah opened a Krav Maga studio.   Meanwhile, when not Weevil hunting, Jack and Ianto fucked like crazed college students. 

One day, Ianto returned to the Hub from the market with coffee and tea supplies.  He found the rest of the team in the common area surrounding Aliyah who was carrying a cooing infant.  Jack stood just behind, looking slightly guilty.  “Martha had her babies early?” Ianto asked while putting his bags on a nearby table.  He immediately realized he was incorrect because Martha was in the group as well, still looking very pregnant. 

“He’s just perfect!” Gwen smiled.

“Looks just like you, mate,” Mickey said to Ianto after giving him a cordial slap on the back.

Aliyah looked at a confused Ianto Jones and groaned.  “You didn’t tell him?!” she said to Jack.

Jack shrugged.  “Charlye was here while you were out, Ianto.”

“She didn’t stay?”  Ianto tried to withhold his disappointment.

“No,” said Jack matter-of-factly.

Aliyah put the child in Ianto’s arms then signaled to the others that it was best if they all left the room.   Sarah shook her head and Aliyah had to shush her but the good rabbi sent Ianto a telepathic message before exiting, “Please, be kind.  This time he really means well.”

Swaddled in a receiving blanket, the child sucked on a pacifier and looked up at a confused Ianto Jones.  “Whose baby is this?”

“Ours,” answered Jack.  He walked over and tickled the baby’s cheek.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that as I don’t recall signing any adoption papers nor do I recall you going into labor.”

“In Charlye’s culture, the women don’t raise the children.  Once they give birth, they leave the children with the fathers, visiting occasionally, of course.”

“Charming.  Not much in the way of maternal instinct, now is there!”  Baby alternated between sucking urgently and nuzzling in Ianto’s arms.  This made Ianto smile – he had always liked children, especially babies.  “Won’t the father be looking for his child?”

“It’s a boy and he has two fathers.”

“How is that possible?”

Jack took the baby and placed him in a nearby crib.  “Narian women require the sperm from two men to conceive.”  He tucked the child in then stood up and looked at Ianto directly.  “He has my eyes but your smile, I believe.”  Jack waited, watching Ianto doing the mental calculations.  “He has been circumcised but Aliyah is insisting we do a proper bris and baby naming ceremony immediately.  I like Elieazer myself, Eli for short.”

“What the fuck, Jack!”

“It means 'God is help, or God is my helper' Aliyah says.  I don’t know but it sounds regal, don’t you think?”

“Jack!”

“Ssh!  Keep your voice down, you’ll wake him.  You said you wanted children.  So what do you think of the name?”

“You planned this?”

Jack sighed.  He sat on the couch next to the crib.  “I wanted a child that reminded us of one another whenever we looked at him.  A child that we could honestly say had both our blood.”  Ianto sat next to Jack.  “Someone I could look at and see you when you’re gone and keep seeing you in their children when their gone.”  Jack looked affectionately at the child and caressed its curly mop of thick brown hair.

Ianto’s thoughts were racing.  He should be mad and maybe on some level he had every right.  But looking at Jack, seeing this side of Jack, yet another piece of this continuingly surprising man acting like any normal bloke with his child, their child . . . “Will he be immortal like you?”

“I don’t know.”

The baby began to wiggle and quietly cry.  Ianto picked him up and started walking away.  “Where are you going?” asked Jack.

“Eli needs changing, bottles situated, and a much better quality onesie.  I’m going to see if Gwen has some small nappies left and to check out that new Carter store that opened down the street.”  Ianto turned back just before exiting the room and said, “By the way, tell Charlye the next time she comes by, it’s her turn to buy the Glenlivet.  Eli shouldn’t be an only child, you know.”

*****************

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way you're with me all the time_

_Maybe I'm afraid of the way I leave you_

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way you help me sing my song_

_Right me when I'm wrong_

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you_

  * _“Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney_



 

**And more than few years later . . . .**

 

“Think she’ll like it?”

“Adequate I suppose.”

“Mmm,” the disappointed young man responded.

Not sure how to reassure her brother but wanting to, she added, “You better go now otherwise you’ll have to catch her at the airport.”  She put her hand on his shoulder to give emphasis.

“Char, I really think I can make her happy.” 

Was it a statement or a question – damn, he was so much like Father.  “Anwen wants excitement, not Torchwood.”  Charlotte’s gaze pointed to the sign hanging over a dedicated entranceway – “Gwen Cooper-Williams Armory”.

She was losing the battle to finding anything else encouraging to say when Ianto enter the conference room.  “Eli, you’d better leave.  Although your Dad’s driving, you don’t want to give him an additional excuse to speed,” Ianto encouraged.

Charlotte tried to subtly signaled to her father that this was the time to offer his son some encouraging words but Eli saw it anyway – not much got past him.  “Father, any encouraging last thoughts?” Eli gave his father an easy opening.

Ianto ran his hand through his greying hair, smiled slightly then hugged his son more like Jack than himself and whispered into Eli’s ear, “I have it on good information that it will all work out.”

Eli’s face lite up and he bounded out of the room like a man on a mission.

Ianto began tidying the conference room, something he knew would irritate his daughter – his old-style subservient ways seemed unseemly to her.  He enjoyed taunting her this way.  “Jealous?” he asked her after dusting her off the couch’s side arm.

“No, why would I be?” she answered defensively.  “Well, maybe.  I don’t know, . .  . sometimes.”  She sighed, as she often did when confronting existential issues.  “In some ways, Eli and Anwen are freer than I.  Everything in their lives will be set, defined, easy to anticipate.”  She looked down at her knotted hands, “But I’ll keep losing people.  First we lost Ms. Gwen.”  Ianto winced at that and decided it was best to sit down next to Charlotte during this tricky conversation.  “One day I’ll lose you, then Eli and Anwen, and then their children.  I’ll always be the one abandoned.”

“This is true.  I had thought about this before committing to having you, particularly once your Dad and I knew Eli didn’t carry the gift.”

“You’ve never called it that before, _a gift_.”

“I never before trusted that an immortal could live so long and remember all the people whose lives were touched by that person’s presence,” he smiled at himself, at how much things had changed within him.  “You know the plaques on the memorial wall of the Hub?”

“Rabbi Aliyah insisted we put them up.  They have you and Dad’s old friends up there, Owen and Tosh.”

“They were the first we added but there are others now,” he said, remembering the day the government allowed Torchwood to erect a stone in London listing all the names of the people lost to the fall of Torchwood One.  Jack put Lisa’s one up first.  “Memorials allow us to never forget the dead but those memories are stagnated unless a living person tells the stories that bring that dead person alive.”  He swallowed hard – it is difficult to think of living without those you love, “You and your father will, as immortals, be a living testimony of our existence – better than any documentary on the tellie or a best seller on Amazon.  You two will breathe vivacity into the stories of our lives.”

“Father, is that something you say to Dad?”

“Ah, G-d no!” dismissed Ianto as he got up.  “Are you kidding!  He gets too emotional about these things!  Someone has to keep a straight head around in this place.”

Her Father left the room with his garbage bag of recyclables, leaving her anxious for her Dad to return home so they could do the weekly Weevil hunting.


	13. Song List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See below

Songs referenced in this story can be found in Spotify under a playlist called “Lovers In Torchwood” (https://play.spotify.com/user/1241760990/playlist/1zLMI3x4jxry6eCFRqRmn8).  The songs are listed by their appearance in the story.  Please enjoy!

 

  * “Get Out the Map” by Indigo Girls
  * “If I Had a Rocket Launcher” by Bruce Cockburn
  * “Isn’t It Time?” by The Babies
  * “Black Waltz” by Blue Gillespie
  * “Numi, Numi” a traditional Israeli lullaby
  * “One Tin Solider” (version sung by Coven for the movie “Legend of Billy Jack” but this one is by the Sugar Chasers is close)
  * “Unstoppable” by Sia
  * “Lovers in a Dangerous Time” by Bruce Cockburn (mentioned in Chapters 1 and 8)
  * “Trouble with Crickets” by Alannah Myles
  * “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone
  * “Pigs (Three Different Kinds)” by Pink Floyd
  * “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Sir Paul McCartney (used twice in the Prologue)



 

 

FIN


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